Starvation 2: Reprise
by Penelope Wendy Bing
Summary: They'd thought it was an unimaginable tragedy. Then something even more incredible happened: it started again. This is the second Hunger Games.
1. Prologue

**A/N**- Well, here it is, folks. Starvation 2. To everyone who read Starvation 1, welcome back! To first timers, welcome. Now, while this is a sequel, you do not need to have read Starvation 1. However, this will spoil the first Victor. If you don't want spoilers, then I invite you to read Starvation 1. This introductory will start out showing a train ride and will cover the pre-Games events. The Games will start in the next chapter.

Now, a note. An enormous, huge, you-have-no-idea-how-big, thank you to LoveTheBoyWithTheBread, my betareader. Love ya, Mel!

**Disclaimer-** Penelope Wnedy Bing does own the Hunger Games. There's a "not" missing from that sentence. Be a dear and see if you can figure out where it goes for me.

Now, welcome to Starvation 2.

"Gooooooooood evening, Panem! This is Tennem Flore-"

"And this is Erasaziel Toonce!" Sazi broke in quickly. Tennem did his best not to give his friend an annoyed glare and jumped right back in.

"Last year's Hunger Games were an exciting event that climaxed with the victory of Wrianin Abro! Now we are fast approaching the second Hunger Games."

Sazi took control of things again. She never was good at letting others do the talking. "The reapings have just been completed and we have got a very promising batch of children this year! In case you missed one of the reapings, we'll do a recap!" She chirped, "First, District 1 with Wesley Sawr and Baylyn Homer."

Sazi and Flore quickly settled into their comfortable routine of switching off with those sorts of things. Tennem exclaimed, "The future champion of District 2 may be Hary Lumer or Eewyn Carre!"

"If Nolaf Killt or Eviu Navers does as well as the District 3 tributes from last year, they'll have a run for their money."

"Don't forget about District 4's Evita Cormichael and Mattrick Brint!"

"The tributes from 5 are Adrian Martinez and Heiress Elmdan."

"Winona Sweet and Indigo Resham from the wonderful District 6!"

"District 7's daring contestants are Fib Carzon and Kiteriin Fromet."

"From District 8 come Caspian Toushone and Roe Tamden."

"Followed by Wilf Errol and Mikki Kismet of District 9!"

"Reno Serman and Jerrica DeJoro of District 10 are in it to win it!"

"Next the fabulous Dewq Deffen and Berra Timsing!"

"To finish the lineup is Svetlio Tren and Wenda Carlotti." Finished Tennem with a huge smile. He really got into the spirit of the Games. Sazi always found it harder to enjoy them because she sympathized too much with the younger children. But Tennem was fairer. He believed anyone who earned it deserved to win. They'd gotten into fights over that. Erasaziel didn't like the last Victor, Wrianin Abro. She figured that since he'd fought with the rebels, he shouldn't be allowed to be the one to survive. But Tennem argued that those were the rules. He'd beaten the others, so he was a Victor. He was right, but Sazi still didn't like it. It made her so upset when they argued; they'd been friends for a long time.

"This is shaping up to be a wonderful Games! We'll see you all back here for a new event organized by the Gamemakers, the chariot rides! How exciting." As the news station's theme song played Sazi and Tennem mouthed a scripted conversation, laughing and reacting in just the right spots. Anyone not in the studio would have thought it was a genuine conversation.

"And- cut!" Shouted the head cameraman. The On Air light turned a relieved shade of red.

The camera crew, makeup artists, and other staff began to disperse, chattering with a just-off-of-work high about their celebratory plans. Some people were going to watch the first Hunger Games again on holodisk with relatives. Some people were going to go out partying in the many bars, clubs, and other night owl institutions that were celebrating the second anniversary of the end of the rebellion. Others were going to be up all night on online forums, talking about and betting on the tributes. Some people didn't really care all that much about the event itself and were just caught up in everyone else's excitement. No matter what the reason, the entire Capitol was aflutter with excitement.

Erasaziel and Tennem stopped mouthing their pantomimed exchange and lapsed into real, familiar conversation.

"I don't know about this group, Tennem. They seem...different." Sazi commented, packing up her bag for the day.

"I think that's a good thing." Tennem said thoughtfully, "They look strong. Like the District 1 boy that punched his escort when she tried to shake his hand."

"Wesley."

"Yes, him. The District 8 boy got second last year. Maybe District 8 going to turn out to be real contenders."

"Mm. Could be. I think I like the District 7 boy better." Sazi said as she shouldered her bag.

Tennem snorted. "He's too young. He won't make it past the first week."

"I know, Tennem." Sazi sighed, "I just feel so sorry for the weaker ones."

Tennem made a small noise of agreement without any real commitment. "Yes. It's bad luck."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Tennem." Sazi said. They gave each other a friendly hug and headed off to their magnecars. The Capitol streets had highly magnetically charged metal embedded in them, which the cars' own magnetic fields would push against to make the cars move. It was cutting-edge technology, only recently produced, and only the wealthy and famous like Tennem and Sazi had managed to get their hands on them.

The Capitol was awash with lights. Neon and strobe lights accented the clubs that were having special Hunger Games themed events. Sazi drove past the parties toward her apartment in the Cristle Building. The Hunger Games would be beginning soon. She didn't need to rush them in.

**Winona Sweet, District 6**

Trains are something I've heard about lots of times, but I've never _actually_ been on one. All the stories I've heard are true. It's like the mayor's car, but bigger. It's _so_ big. Big enough to fit me, my District mate (Indigo), a bunch of different rooms, a whole scrum of servants, and Wrianin Abro. I've seen the Victor of the Hunger Games around before, but I've never spoken to him. He always looks so sad. You can tell he's always in pain. Both because he won the Hunger Games and his friends died, and because of his constant headache. Something happened to him; he almost died in the hospital. They saved him, but it somehow went wrong and he's had splitting headaches ever since. I've heard he takes medicine for it, but it's the kind that makes you sleepy and fuzzy-minded. He looks like he didn't take it this morning.

Indigo and I sit silently, waiting for him to speak.

"I'm Wrianin Abro. But I guess you already know that." He says finally. "And you're Winona and...Inigo?"

"Indigo." He corrects Wrianin Abro. "It's a little hard to tell through the Capitol accent." He's doing his best to sound upbeat.

Wrianin Abro smiles faintly. "Alright. We'll be at the Capitol early tomorrow morning. Until then you can relax on the train. I recommend pigging out on the food. It's beyond anything you could imagine. And once you get into the Games you'll be hard pressed to find anything to eat." His eyes cloud up with painful memories. "Once we get to the city you'll be dressed up for the chariot rides. That's a new event the Gamemakers have cooked up. Basically they're going to put you all in costumes the way they will for the interviews and then parade you around on T.V. It's a useless event. But it's not my choice. Then you'll have the interviews and the Games will start."

Panic begins to shoot into my stomach. "The Games will start." This is really happening. I've been trying so hard to let myself be swept away in the rush of seeing this train, meeting a big celebrity, going to the luxurious Capitol, and now my little pocket of safety is being torn down. I desperately turn myself to innocent thoughts, trying to not know how much danger I'm in.

"Any questions?" He asks, rubbing his temples.

"Uh, nope." Indigo swallows hard. I shake my head.

"If you think of anything, just come find me. Even if it's the middle of the night. I want to help you as much as I can." Wrianin Abro says and stands up with a forced smile. He heads to his room, probably to go take his pills.

"Well...this sucks." Mutters Indigo, mostly to himself. His happy smile is gone, and he looks small now.

Yeah, Indigo. That's one way to put it.

We're hustled from the train and its fabulous food. Wrianin Abro was right. It's perfect.

There are camera crews from the big news agency here, and two reporters are babbling excitedly into their microphones. They're not the ones who are on the T.V. most of the time. These are some other perky people, sent to do the outdoor work that they don't want to lose their best announcers to. Transit to the train station takes too long, I guess.

Everything passes in a rush. It's like my brain has slowed down to process all these sights and now it can't speed back up again. Wrianin Abro smiles tightly, waving like he doesn't like it but has to. Indigo gives a happy thumbs-up to the cameras, since his smile is back. Good. I like to see him smile. It makes me feel warmer to see someone happy.

I'm pretty sure my mouth is hanging open, but the Capitol's much too distracting for me to focus on silly things like that just at the moment. Everything's so big and expensive looking. I'm really glad I'm so awestruck by all of the sights and events. I'm sure I'd spend all of my time crying if everything really got to penetrate, the way it almost did on the train.

After being paraded for the media for a while we're rushed off to a long, low building. It's not nearly as special or pretty as the others. Next to it is another, grander building being constructed. My guess is that this plain building is not fancy enough to meet Capitol standards, but they needed somewhere to house us quickly. Maybe the building they're still working on is going to hold next year's tributes in style. Well, lucky them.

The heavy metal doors close behind us with a solid thud. Wrianin frowns and rubs his head. Apparently loud noises hurt his head even through his medicine. He smiles tightly. "Well. Let's find your rooms, shall we?"

**Nolaf Killt, District 3**

It's funny. Just when you think you're going to be sent to your death you sit around in a gray, ugly building for hours. Kind of a letdown. But a welcome one.

Our rooms are perfectly comfortable, but bare. There's a lounge area in the middle of the building, which is where we've been spending most of our time. I'd say that at any given time, half of us kids are in the lounge...lounging. I think we're all in shock. Some of us have figured out that we're going to die and kill, and have locked themselves in their rooms. But the rest of us are sitting around the lounge in a daze.

My District partner, Eviu, is staring off at a wall blankly. The girl from 10 is crying, face down, on a couch. The two from 12 are arguing in the corner. I can't remember anyone's name but Eviu's yet. Maybe it'd be better if I never did. After all, life has a way of taking away the things you care about, at least in Panem.

A Capitol servant comes in, dressed in white. He claps for our attention, silencing the kids from 12. Another man bobs through the door, this time one of the privileged Capitol citizens themselves. He claps for attention, despite the fact that the quiet servant has already done this and we're all looking at him. My guess is he just wants to act like he's someone important.

"Attention please!" He bellows. Not only do we hear his voice, but it plays through invisible speakers, which I guess is why he doesn't need to go gather the ten or so kids in other rooms. They can hear him already.

"I am Head Gamemaker Cyril Debrown." He begins.

Oh. So he really _is_ someone important.

"In approximately two hours your stylists will come to collect you to dress you for the chariot rides. You will be put in costume and be led on a parade through the city. The night after you will be interviewed. This will consist of another batch of costumes and being given three minutes to talk. Are there any questions?" He lists, clearly bored.

The District 8 kids are watching the floor, like this is all old news to them.

"Yeah. How're you supposed to get some food in this joint?" Drawls the District 2 girl. I can't tell whether or not she's being sarcastic.

Cyril's mouth twitches. "Tell one of the Avoxes what you want and they'll bring it to you. What I _meant_ was are there any questions about the pre-Games events?"

"Why are we doing this anyway?" Growls the District 1 boy.

"Don't question those older and more intelligent than yourself, Wesley." Reprimands Cyril. Wesley blinks, apparently a bit thrown by the fact that this strange man knew his name.

"The day after that the Hunger Games will begin." Cyril resumes, an element of relish slinking into his voice. "This year, things will not slow down the way they did for the first Games. The other Gamemakers and I will provide some incentive to act if necessary." He smiles, showing elongated canines. One of the girls yelps in surprise.

"I would suggest that you not let it become necessary. Now, any questions _on the Hunger Games_?" He asks, with a pointed glare at the District 2 girl.

"No. I'm good." She says with a snarky smile.

"Wonderful. You may have the remaining time before the chariot rides to yourselves. Do...whatever it is you District brats do in your free time. Whine about how _horribly mistreated_ you are or something."

Cyril turns on his heel and struts out the door.

The only reaction is from one of the older girls, who coughs into her arm.

"Well, I'm starved." The girl from 2 says. "Hey you! Could I have...smoked ham, please?"

The servant nods and exits, presumably to go find some food.

"What?" She says, realizing everyone's looking at her. "Might as well enjoy it while you can. Most of us aren't going to come back."

Slowly the conversations begin to resume. The pair from 12 continues to argue bitterly. They obviously hate each other. The girl from 10 stops crying and drifts off, eyes clouded. The 8 girl is making a nuisance of herself, asking weird stilted questions. Her conversations don't make much sense. For a moment I wonder if she's mentally disabled, but it becomes clear pretty soon that's she's just stupid.

I sit down in a chair, not sure what to do. We've still got awhile until we need to go, but this is becoming so overwhelming, so fast. I have no idea how to start.

The boy from District 5 is sitting down on the opposite side of the room, chin on his hands, watching calmly. I think he's trying to learn. To learn these people. After a couple minutes he strikes up quiet conversation with the girl from 1.

I stand up to head to my room. I'm getting nothing done here. Maybe I can get some sleep, or strategize. I should probably strategize. It feels like I'm just remembering. I might be dead in seventy-two hours. It just now hits me. I could die.

I lurch toward the door, knocked off my guard by my own sudden understanding.

My door always seems to be a few stubborn feet further down the hall than I thought it was, which is probably because my head is spinning.

"Hey. You okay?" Calls a guy's voice.

"No." I mutter.

"Well, get over it." He says. I stop trudging down the hall and focus on him. His dark skin identifies him as the boy from District 11.

"Well, what do you want me to say?" I snap back, the realization opening doors of opportunity to anger. "You want me to tell you that I'm okay that I'm going to be thrown into an arena to kill other kids in three days? You want me to tell you that?"

"No. But if you don't get over it, you're going to drive yourself insane. See you around." With that bit of sage wisdom he turns and disappears through his door.

**Evita Cormichael, District 4**

I kick the door open. A few heads turn in the lounge, but everyone quickly goes back to their own stupid conversations. The bathrooms, apparently, are on the other side of the building. I have to pass through the lounge to get there. I kick a chair as I walk past. I've been kicking things a lot lately. It's the only thing I've found that helps me let out some of the feelings inside of me.

I was chosen for the Hunger Games. Me. How can that be right? My mind is fighting against it. I know it's the truth, but I'm still desperately hoping that there's some way to undo this with sheer force of will.

"Hey." Grumbles the person sitting in the chair. It's that blonde girl with her smoked ham. "Watch it."

I snort. "If you can't deal with your chair being kicked, you're doomed."

She rolls her eyes. "What I don't like isn't that you kicked my chair. I'm not a wimp. I just don't like your attitude,"

"Attitude?" I scoff. "You're one to talk."

"Thanks for noticing. I'm Eewyn." She holds out her hand. I shake hard, seeing how much she lets me jerk her around. Not much, is the answer.

"No last name?" I ask.

"Eewyn _Carre_,not that it matters. You going to tell me your name or do I need to go bug everyone else about it?"

"Evita."

"No last name?" She mimics.

"Not to you." I shoot.

"So, Evita Nottoyou, which District did they take you from?"

"4. And you're from 2. How long are you going to keep up this stupid small talk?"

She grins. "As long as it takes to make you smile. I'm not a total jerk, you know."

"Oh really? You had me fooled."

"Someone needs to relax." Eewyn says, raising an eyebrow.

I bark with laughter. "Are you for real?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm talking about the ham. And telling me to relax. Talking back to the Gamemaker. Do you really not care what's happening to us?" I say.

Eewyn sits back for a moment, like she'd never thought about that. She frowns for a moment and then her face clears. "It's easier to not care. To just let whatever happens, happen."

"I guess so."

We sit in silence for a moment, before Eewyn says, "Want a bite?"

"What?" I say.

"Of my ham." She says like it's obvious.

"Oh…okay. I guess.

She asks one of the "Avoxes" for another fork.

"They cut their tongues out, you know." She whispers.

"Who? What?" I say in surprise.

"The Avoxes. They don't have any tongues, because the Capitol cuts them out."

The Avox comes back, giving Eewyn a fork, which she hands to me.

"Here." She shoves the plate at me.

"Mm. Thanks." I mutter, spearing a strip of ham into my mouth and chewing loudly.

"No problem."

**Adrian Martinez, District 5**

Baylyn Homer is eighteen years old. She has two older siblings, both male. She comes from the poorer part of District 1, where gang activity is commonplace. Her father was pressuring her to marry into money and get them all out of the slums. His two sons are too busy drinking and gambling to do the same. The man he wants her to marry is almost forty years old. Baylyn is unhappy about needing to kill and is as of yet undecided about whether or not she'll be willing to.

A lot of these people are easy to pin down. Some of them, not so much. There's Wesley from District 1. He's angry. He'll be brutal and probably blunder into things. I understand following your instincts, but you need to exercise caution sometimes. You need to observe.

Jerrica DeJoro from 10 cries all the time. She's vulnerable. Wenda and Svetlio from 12 do nothing but fight. They were friends, I've gathered. But now the Hunger Games have turned them against each other. And we haven't even entered the arena yet. I shake my head. False friendships. I've never understood how people can act close to someone and then let everything crumble at the first sign of adversity.

"What?" Baylyn asks.

"Wenda Carlotti and Svetlio Tren." I answer absently.

"Again, what?"

"The pair from 12."

"Oh. How do you know their names?"

"I heard them talking to each other. They started out calling each other by first name, but now they're using last names."

"Oh." Baylyn frowns and looks out at the room. Or at least, that's where her face is pointed. It looks like her mind is somewhere else.

"You have a good memory." She murmurs.

"Photographic." I inform her.

She looks at me briefly in surprise before we look back at the people in the room.

The silence is comfortable. Baylyn's not the type who needs conversation, and I'm busy observing the other tributes.

People hardly ever listen to each other. But I do. I'm very observant. I notice everything. Baylyn and I will chat quietly for a moment or two as the minutes go by, but for the most part we just sit. Me watching, her thinking.

The doors bang open and everybody jumps.

Head Gamemaker Debrown claps his hands loudly. He's fond of doing that.

Cyril Debrus Debrown: Head Gamemaker and violent Capitol politician. Forty-three years old. Short, fat, and balding. A fondness for attention, power, and feeling like he has more influence than he does. Thinks he's closer to the president than he actually is. I've gathered most of this information from watching the news. But I must admit, he's not so tough a nut to crack. None of the Capitol people are. As a society, they're very easy to read.

"You will now be dressed for the chariot rides!" He squawks, "You will find your stylists and makeup teams in your rooms!"

"So get moving!" He finishes, and takes a grand exit.

There's silence until the District 2 girl announces, "Well, what the heck you all waiting for?" And strides off.

"Well, I guess it's time to go." Baylyn says with a smile.

**Eviu Navers, District 3**

"Hold up your arms, girl! Were you raised in a barn?" Scolds the designer.

I don't bother answering. I figure she doesn't really care. I don't either. I don't care anymore.

"Now, you need to show this off, dear. It's lovely and shiny, but it'll all be wasted if you don't swing your hips."

The dress is metal plated, but I wouldn't say shiny. It's dull. Or maybe that's just how I see the world now. It has buttons down the front that glow when you push them. The stylist felt that that was terribly clever. I disagree.

"Makeup!" She squeals and claps her hand. A pair of eccentric-looking men begins applying thick shimmery green powder. It takes me a moment to realize that they mean to apply it to every visible inch of skin. While the men powder my arms, face, and legs the stylist shrieks at them not to get anything on my dress. It all fades away to a sort of background hum.

I'm pretty numb as they cake on lipstick and mascara. My nails are painted a horrible neon green with silver tips. I look ridiculous.

I don't see the hall as we're shuffled into chariots. The District 1 kids are resplendent, I'm sure. District 2 has a tough act to follow. Nolaf Kilter and I don't make any waves.

Only District 8 shows any competition, in their fine and fancy clothes. This is a useless event.

**Dewq Deffen, District 11**

"Deeeeeewq?" Berra whispers as we're shunted back to the holding building.

"Yeah?"

"Are we going to die?"

I'm brought up short by my District partner's abruptness. Most people like to dodge the issue. But not me. And apparently, not Berra Timsing.

"Who knows? We might. It's entirely possible. But then again, we may win. It's impossible to tell." I answer candidly.

"Okay." She says with a nod. The peacekeepers surrounding us kids open the heavy door and shepherd us inside. Although sheepherders is probably the wrong analogy. More like butchers. But whatever. The point is they put us back in the holding building.

It's late. Past ten, for sure. Some of the kids mill around and talk in their costumes, but I just want to go to bed. So I do.

The light spills in from my window, right into my eyes. I hate waking up. Hate it, hate it, and hate it. I mean, really. What goes on at six in the morning that it's so important I know about?

But I suppose it must be later than six, if the sun is up. But the principle still stands.

I poke my head out of my door to find a servant passing down the hallway. Perfect.

"Kin I have…um…eggs n' bakin?" I slur. "Thanks…" I pull the door shut and collapse on my bed. My mouth doesn't work right after I get up. Just never does. I stare at the ceiling till my food is brought in. The eggs are fried. Not my favorite, but I forgot to ask for scrambled. Oh well. At least it's hot.

The last day of my life where I won't have to worry about being killed at any moment. Weird feeling. That's not something you really ever worry about worrying about. If that makes sense. But for whatever reason, that day has come.

I like to face things head on. I don't see the point of sugarcoating anything. Your life is what it is, and the best way to adapt to the problems life throws at you is to face them and accept their implications. Killing is repulsive. It's evil. But the kid who survives will be the one who can look that in the face, accept it, and kill anyway. Will I be able to do that? I don't know yet. But I will when the time comes. When faced with my choice, I'll make it.

I finish off the eggs and chew on a piece of bacon. It's really a shame that you have to be on death row to eat this food.

Pulling the door of my dresser open, I look through the bottom drawer, still a bit groggy. I settle on a functional pair of gray pants and a loose black long-sleeved shirt. The plain fabrics aren't exactly my cup of tea, but they'll do. Considering what I'm up against, I think I can sacrifice my sliver of a fashion sense.

I push the door open. The hallway seems a little too bright, so I give my eyes a good rub before I head down.

The lounge has the general feel of being woken up too early. Except for the one or two early risers. I've always wished I could just pop out of bed and be awake. Unfortunately, I'm not wired that way. Sucks to be me, I guess.

"You gotta try it!" Bursts Roe, that dim girl from 8.

"Try what Roe?" I say patiently.

"The hot chokip!" She says. She's jolted over here, and now she's close enough that I can smell her weird Roe smell.

"It's called 'hot _chocolate_', Roe." Corrects the guy who I think is her District partner from across the room.

"Yeah, it's really…" Her sentence trails off and she motions with her hands, like she suddenly doesn't speak my language or something.

"Really what?" I prompt her.

"Yeah, it's really good."

Roe Tamden is sixteen, just a year younger than me, but she's also incredibly stupid. I feel bad saying that, but that's the truth. You ask her to do something that would be simple to most people, and she just stands there and looks at you. She's too nice to kill anyone. But even if she wanted too she's also tiny and has no chance of winning a fight if she tried. I'm sorry, but that's the honest truth.

"Sure Roe, I'll try it." I appease her.

"One of…whatever it is she's talking about." I ask a servant.

"Hot chocolate." Grumbles Roe's District partner. Apparently, he's heard too much about hot chocolate recently.

Roe does some weird sort of jump over a seam in the flooring, "I don't know why, but ever since I was a kid I just love to do this." And giggles like this is funny. Maybe it is in her mind.

"_Loved_, Roe. Not love." The guy corrects.

"Who are you, anyway?" I ask him curiously.

"Caspian Toushone. District 8." He says tiredly. "I'm her District partner."

"Yeah, I gathered that." I answer and sit next to him.

He looks around furtively. It takes me a second to figure out that he's checking to see where Roe is.

"I'm also her babysitter." He mutters.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"She's not going to make it past day one on her own. I need to keep track of her. We've made an alliance for the Games, too." Caspian say tiredly.

"You don't sound too excited about that."

"I'm not, but it's kind of my duty."

I nod. "You've got to take care of the kid from your District, huh?"

"Yeah. What about you? You and what's-her-face going to team up?"

"I'm not sure," I say honestly, "the bare truth is that every kid in this arena is worth just as much as the others. To be blunt about it, Berra shouldn't matter more to me than anyone else here. She does, of course, but I'm trying to look at this all objectively."

Caspian nods. "I can respect that."

"Yeah. I'm saving the apple for later. I don't know why, but ever since I was little I eat peanut butter. I don't know why, it's just…yeah." Roe's voice travels across the room.

"'Ate', Roe. Not 'eat'." Caspian sighs. "Excuse me." He says as he stands.

"Of course." I answer.

"Roe, leave the boy alone!"

"Uhh…yeah."

**Jerrica DeJoro, District 10**

The spotlights catch the glint of tears on my cheeks. I can't stop.

I don't understand it. I was never a particularly strong person before, but I was never a crybaby. But now all I can do is cry. But, you can't say that it's really my fault, can you? I am going to die. But still. I'm making a fool out of myself.

I try for the thousandth time to stop crying and save my legacy. But as usual, I can't. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. I must be insane, then.

"Welcome, Panem, to the interviews of the contestants in the second annual Hunger Games." Says Miss Climian in her soothing, hypnotic voice.

"First I will be speaking with Baylyn Homer."

Baylyn is quiet and thoughtful, saying little and thinking a lot.

The boy from District 1 is aggressive and angry when he does his interview, which is sort of a slap in the face after his quiet District partner.

Tsepelia Climian has a hard time adapting to the subtle sarcasm of the District 2 girl, and looks relieved when Eewyn moves back to her seat. She just has enough time to relax with a disgusting Capitol-loving kid named Mattrick from 4 before she's slapped again with Evita Cormichael's bitterness.

"Now, Heiress. What do you think your chances are?"

"Really? You stand there and ask me what my chances are? You wanna know where you can stick your chances? Stick 'em right up your a-"

"Thank you very much, Ms. Elmdan. For your opinion." Tsepelia interrupts her. The bell to signify the end of her interview rings and Tsepelia looks like she's just decided that yes, there is in fact a God. I smile through the still-falling tears.

The pair from 6 doesn't really get to talk about themselves; Tsepelia mostly just asks them questions about Wrianin.

The boy from 9 jokes and acts like the whole thing is some routine he set up with Tsepelia.

Reno, my District partner, tries to look strong but just fades into the background. Then it's my turn.

"What do you have waiting for at home?"

"Tell me about your family."

"What do you most want to do if you win?"

All of the questions she asks are kind and encouraging, but I have trouble finding the breath through my tears to answer. I'm pathetic.

My interview isn't over soon enough. It couldn't possibly be. Next the 11 kids. That Dewq boy scares me. He seems so unattached. It's like everything is one big philosophical issue for him to ponder over a cup of tea. His District partner is no one memorable.

The pair from 12 is drilled about their rivalry and not much else. Tsepelia gives some closing line and we're escorted off stage in the dark. Escorted offstage, to go to sleep before the day we are sent to our deaths.

Happy Hunger Games.

"Well, my friends, the moment you've all been waiting for has come! Last year's smash hit, the Hunger Games, has returned."

"Indeed it has, Erasaziel. It's time again for this exciting event of reparation to the Capitol."

"Before we start, let's watch a short clip of President Hellwick's pre-Game speech."

The president was shown in her characteristic gray suit, never once looking at the notes she held in her hands.

"As the rebellion grows further and further behind us, old wounds begin to close. Old hurts begin to heal. Old societal traditions begin to take back their deserved places in history. However, as the world begins to right itself, we cannot forget the crimes that have been committed.

As these twenty-four children prepare to battle for glory and riches, remember that only one may prosper. Punishment will be exacted en masse. Thank the mercy of the Capitol that we have decided to punish a few for the sins of the many.

As we begin on this path to repairing our beloved Panem, remember that the tragedy of the rebellion was the final act of division. Panem will stand forever, as it is, and as it should always be."

The announcers are back on the screen.

"Now, people of Panem, sit back, prepare yourself, and enjoy the second Hunger Games!"


	2. Insomnia

**Chapter 1**

**Svetlio Tren, District 12**

I don't give a….darn…about the landscape, but I figure that I ought to pay it some attention. It could come in handy.

The land is completely flat.

The grasses are tall, several feet high in most places.

I can see only one tree in the entire arena, and it's not tall enough to provide any sort of protection.

There are no visible sources of water.

Good. Now I can get back to kicking Wenda's…butt.

The gong sounds and it figures Wenda and I are off our metal plates first. That…nasty girl…can't wait to get a piece of me. Well, the feeling's mutual you…jerk.

I run toward the golden cornucopia the Gamemakers have added for whatever reason, pushing my legs harder and harder. Wenda's just as fast as me, so it's going to come down to who wants it more. I certainly think I do. After all, Wenda was the one who snubbed and insulted me the minute the train left the station. She's the one who decided that knowing each other for ten years was worth nothing. She's the one who had the nerve to be offended when I was…mad.

I snatch up a spear from the middle-ish range of the cornucopia. I pale. Wenda has a thin. Light sword. She smiles gruesomely and lunges.

I can't block with my spear or it'll end up toothpicks. And Wenda's sword's not heavy enough to slow her movement. I look around desperately as Wenda pushes me backwards, trying to find something to defend myself with. For lack of anything better, I snatch a backpack off the ground and shrug it on backwards. Judging by the expression on Wenda's face, I'm really cutting a pretty ridiculous figure here. Oh well.

I slash at her face, trying to take out an eye. She wasn't expecting me to attack, but I still don't get her eye. I only cut her cheek open.

She changes her tactic, trying to hit my arm or spear and knock it away or make me drop it some other way. She wants me unarmed.

I try to dodge, but the backpack sticking off the front of my chest and stomach is throwing me off.

All of the sudden Wenda launches forward furiously, almost bringing me down with a slam of attacks. Panic lets me do something I'm sure I never could have done otherwise. I bend backwards, under one of her swings, and up behind her. I take advantage of my new position to stab my spear into Wenda's back.

Just when I think it's time to celebrate, Wenda finds the strength to turn, and stabs her sword into my forehead. I don't even live to see her die.

**Wesley Sawr, District 1**

Nobody bothers the kids from 12. They'll sort out their own problems, and whichever one of them manages to kill the other, we can deal with.

I race toward the supplies littering our fancy new cornucopia. Gee, thanks Gamemakers! This little piece of hardware makes this whole thing okay. Not. Snatching up knives, I whip around. Perfect. It's that girl from 5 who decided that since we both hated the Capitol we must be best friends. I lunge at her and grab her shoulder. Before she can scream, I bury the knife into her throat.

The little kid from District 7 is taken out almost as soon as stupid Heiress. Then everyone is gone. Everything is gone. I swear, one minute there were supplies everywhere, and now they're all gone. That can't possibly be right though. More likely I just got distracted by killing Heiress Elmdan.

After some quick searching, I figure out that there're no supplies left. Well, this bites. I can't see anything but grass, the ornamental cornucopia, and four bodies. I turn around and around, looking for some sign. Maybe someone's spying on me only a few feet away, and I can catch the ripple of grass as they breathe. Nope. The faint breeze is just enough to stir the grass. So that plan's no good.

I look further. My guess would be that everyone is lying on their stomachs or crawling through the grasses. Standing up would put you in plain view.

I look even further, scanning the horizon. There. In the distance, I see hills rising. I grin. I bet a lot of people decided to head for the hills, after a false sense of being concealed. Well, that sounds like as good a place to start as any. I tuck my knives under my arm and head off, whistling.

**Berra Timsing, District 11**

Four of this year's girls are fourteen. It's ridiculous. This is a bad year to be fourteen. I considered allying with the other fourteen-year-olds, but decided not to. To be honest, all of us look pretty weak. Stealth is probably a better choice for us, if we can manage it. We've done a pretty good job so far. At least, as far as I know. Maybe someone died since the horn thing at the beginning, but I have no way of knowing till tonight. Which is now, apparently.

The first face is one of the older girls. From District 5? That sounds right. Then Fib, from 7. There are no twelve-year-olds this year. At thirteen, he was the youngest. Then both of the kids from 12. I saw them fighting, but I didn't know they died.

I curl up around the trunk of the tree. Surely nobody else is going to be stupid enough to try something like this. Risking my life on human stupidity may be a gamble, but in general humans are stupid. So this seems as good a plan as any.

I wonder vaguely why they took the names away from the roll call. I'm half asleep now, but I decide I need to get this down before I forget. I pull out my tiny knife and etch numbers, one through twelve, in the trunk of the tree. Next to the numbers I scratch "M" and "F" for male and female tributes. I cross out the F for District 5 and the M for 7, followed by a line through District 12's entire row. I frown at the carvings in the tree. It feels like not enough. It doesn't seem like a good memorial for dead children. But I shake my head and curl up into a ball. I need to focus. I don't owe these children anything, and they don't owe squat to me either. I need to remember that. ****

_Day two._

**Reno Serman, District 10**

You know what I realized? I have no direction. I'm not going anywhere, really. I'm just _going_. You know. For the heck of it. This can't be good.

I'm not much good at these Games. I packed my interview full of bravado, but only came off as trying to look braver than I really am. Now I'm trying to be purposeful, but have discovered that it helps to choose a purpose first. If I don't get it together soon…I dunno. I only have so much time until I'm going to need to know what I'm doing to survive. So I need to figure this out STAT.

What does STAT mean anyway? I mean, I know it's mostly the same thing as ASAP, but what-

No, Reno, you've got to focus. You can't get so distracted so easily. Bad. Bad Reno. And now you're talking to yourself as well. Have you really lost it? No. No, of course I haven't; this is just a harmless nervous habit. Yep. A nervous habit. That's all.

I shake my head and bang my fists against my eyes. C'mon, Reno. Go to sleep. It's the middle of the night. Sleeping is, I believe, traditional for this time of night. Go to sleep. Go to sleep. I try humming a few bars of my favorite lullaby, but that hasn't been used to lull me to sleep for years and it seems to have lost its magic. I frown. I hate the idea that childhood joys like my favorite old lullaby are slipping between my fingers. I've lost enough already. I thought my memories were safe. But apparently not.

Go. To. SLEEP.

Here's a novel idea. Maybe focusing so hard on going to sleep is keeping me up. I just need to stop thinking. Easy. See? Nothing to this. I really thought not thinking would be harder, but this is very relaxing. Maybe-

Oh, dang. I was thinking again, wasn't I? Well.

I lay back with a sigh, prepared to just not get to sleep at all tonight. I wonder how many of the nineteen other kids in here are doing the same thing. Probably a lot of them. Maybe the first night is the worst. I don't know. I tried really hard not to pay attention during the first Games. I always plugged my ears and buried my head in a pillow. A goofy thing for a fifteen-year-old boy to do, but it's harder than you might think to watch your peers kill each other. Of course, my twelve-year-old sister watched the whole thing stoically, but we don't need to bring that up, do we?

I smile at the thought of Qwinne. She's the perfect little sister, which of course means she has to be at least a little bit annoying. But not bad annoying. More like roll-my-eyes-and-groan-about-how-much-I-hate-you-even-though-I-don't kind of annoying. The good kind. And we love each other, no matter how much we may argue the negative. We didn't even need to say it during the goodbyes. We knew. I'm glad it was a no-brainer. I'm pretty sure that that means that it's the truth, if we would take it so for granted. Unless it just means that Qwinne has been serious this whole time and didn't say anything because she really does hate me. I don't think I could deal with that.

Come on, Reno. Go to sleep.

Maybe all twenty of us are sitting up, awake. Maybe we're all rocking back and forth, trying desperately to turn our minds off. Okay, maybe not. But you never know. That number, twenty, has the potential to keep us all up.

It's pretty simple math: Twenty-four minus four equals twenty. It's the whole "minus four" part that's disturbing. It's only the first day, and four people have died. Four people didn't just die, either. They weren't all bitten by snakes like the District 4 boy last year, the very first casualty of the Hunger Games. Nope. Four people were killed. Murdered. Terminated. Put to death. Whatever euphemism you like. Already we're dying and killing, no questions asked. The Head Gamemaker, Cyril Debrown, said that this year things wouldn't slow down. He said these Games would be bloodier. No slow deaths just nicely wasting away with your friends. No. This year you're going to be killed.

Which presents a problem: I'm not a fighter. I'll have to avoid the dangerous people. But who are they? I'm not a killer; I didn't touch those four kids this morning. So who did?

"I'm kind of scared, Qwinne." I murmur. "I don't know how to do anything in here. I don't know how to kill. Heck, I didn't even bother grabbing anything from that big horn thing this morning. Am I stupid for not being willing to kill?

"And don't bother answering," I add dryly, "I know how you jump at any chance to tell me how stupid I am. Like that time we tried to make reaping day breakfast for mom for the first reaping, and I forgot and burnt all of the, err, everything. Remember how scared mom was for us? We didn't get chosen that year, though. So it was okay."

My smile loses some of the luster leant to it by reminiscence. "Mom. She was almost having a nervous breakdown last year. It didn't even end after the reaping, either. Remember how she had nightmares about seeing us die on T.V.? I think she'd finally begun to think we were safe. But now…" I sigh.

"Take care of her, Qwinne. She needs us, but I can't do anything here. Well, beyond saying 'Hi mom'. So you need to do even more for her. You have to give her my half of our love too now, okay? Because I just don't see me coming back."

I wait for the response I'm sure is coming at home. "Night." I whisper, and I settle down for the night. And I finally fall asleep.

**Surviving Contestants:**

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Hary Lumer (Hawr-ee Loo-mur)

Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: Nolaf Killt (No-lof Kilt)

Eviu Navers (Ee-vee-you Na-vurs)

District 4: Mattrick Brint (Ma-trick Brihnt)

Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: Indigo Resham (In-dih-go Resh-um)

Winona Sweet (Wih-no-nuh Sweet)

District 7: Kiteriin Fromet (Kit-er-een Fro-met)

District 8: Caspian Toushone (Cas-pee-in Too-shown)

Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)

District 9: Wilf Errol (Wilf Eh-roll)

Mikki Kismet (Mick-ee Kis-met)

District 10: Reno Serman (Ree-no Ser-mahn)

Jerrica DeJoro (Jare-ick-uh Deh-Jore-oh)

District 11: Dewq Deffen (Duke Def-in)

Berra Timsing (Bare-uh Tim-zing)


	3. All Fall Down

**Chapter 2**

**Mikki Kismet, District 9**

Today's the day. Today's the day I'm going to kill myself.

I'm going to do it nice and fast. I don't see the point of hanging around. I've got the rope I need, and enough food to feast for my last meal. Better to go soon in luxury than later in agony. Which I'm sure someone will be all too happy to oblige me.

I skip happily along the banks of my death-giving river. I had to walk my butt off to find any water, let me tell you. I was up all night, and I only found this once I fell in. I don't have good night vision, okay?

But anyway, now I'm dry and the sun is shining and I couldn't have chosen a more beautiful last day on earth. Let me tell you, if I weren't here to die I would love this place. Everything has this perfect blend of gold and green and the grass is tall and waving. The sky is perfectly blue. I can see everything. Well, not really. But I love the openness of this place. It's a perfect place to die; if I didn't know better I'd think I was in Heaven already.

I plunk myself down on the riverbank. I've finally found a section wide enough and deep enough with a log stuck in the bottom to fit my purposes. It's absolutely perfect. If I didn't know better, I'd say the Gamemakers knew what I wanted to do and made sure I had just the stuff to do it. Very helpful of them, really.

I pull out all of my wonderful food. Soft, chewy, perfect bread with a sharp orangey cheese. Fresh peaches, which I only know what to call because of the big PEACHES printed on the sack they came in. I have a ton of them. I don't think I'll be able to eat them all. Especially with the little bag of salty nuts distracting me. I can't stop eating them. Maybe it's a good thing I'm not going to become a Victor. If I did, I would get so fat so fast, it'd seem like a magic trick.

I unscrew the real gem of a find: a bottle full of something called pomegranate juice. I tried a little of it while I was walking and it is divine. Fruit juice is at a premium everywhere, but in here this bottle is probably one of a kind.

I touch the bottle to my lips, letting the red contents swish into my mouth just the tiniest bit. Something like this you've gotta drink slowly to get the full appreciation for it. It's like life: Too much at once takes away the enjoyment. Like these Games. Too much. Too, too much.

I smack my lips and cut the cheese with a throwing knife. Not perfect, but it works. I stick a slab in my mouth. I've always enjoyed foods more on their own. My father considers himself to be a real connoisseur and always works hard to achieve that "perfect balance" of flavors, but I just don't enjoy that type of perfection, I guess. I like flavors to be stand-alone.

Once I finish my piece of cheese I rip the central fluffy part out of a hunk of bread. Once I'm done with that I eat the leftover crust and some more nuts. This is amazing. I know it may seem silly to say that sitting around and eating food is amazing, but I love this feeling of peace and luxury. If death is anything like this I am going to love being dead.

I guess I'll know soon, no?

Maybe death's not like that at all. Maybe it's boring. Maybe your mind or your soul or whatever it is that makes you human just floats around for eternity. Maybe death really does just lead to reincarnation. That'd be kind of cool. Don't like the life you have right now? Just return your old one and we'll replace it, absolutely free!

I laugh at my own silly thoughts. I have no idea where that came from. Well, beyond my new suicidal look at life. That probably has a little something to do with it. Or maybe not. But my guess would be that it does.

It's a little ironic that I've so easily found my good humor now that I plan to kill myself. I mean, life was never this good before I decided I wanted to die. What's up with that? Maybe now that I know I won't have to put up with any of this for much longer, it's easy to enjoy short bursts of things like sleep, waking up slowly, eating. Life is meant to be enjoyed like pomegranate juice, just sips at a time.

I sigh contentedly. Laying back against the grass, I look up at the sky. There are adorable puffball clouds in the sky. They're hardly moving. This is the one part of this day I would change. I like it when the wind blows the clouds across the sky and they billow and skate like they're self-important little men strutting across the sky. But that would mean the wind would have to pick up, which I don't want. So I can deal with these frozen clouds.

You know, they're almost too motionless. Maybe the Gamemakers have decided that they're superior to things like the weather and are controlling the clouds. Creepy idea.

This whole thing is a little creepy. I mean. I shouldn't be so happy about killing myself, should I?

I should feel upset. I should be scared by my situation. I should feel panic rising in my throat. I should be desperate. I should be willing to scream and scream and never stop until I stop myself completely. I should feel my thoughts and my heart racing, seeing which can fill me with the most terror. I should feel my mind whirling faster and faster, bouncing inside of my stomach, my heart- my heart-

No, no, no. I grip the sides of my head and moan a little, trying to hold in the emotions I've buried so deeply. I hate them; they'll wash me away as surely as death. At least death is on my terms. But I don't want to die! I don't want there to be a nothing I'll never leave. I don't want to- oh, help. Help. Help. Help.

I need it to stop. Yes. That will be lovely. I drop my food and slide to the bottom of the riverbank.

It's going to hurt to die. It's going to hurt to live with feelings digging their claws into my stomach, ripping through my body to come out.

I fumble the rope I got yesterday from my belt loop, tie it around my wrist, and dive into the river.

This is a perfect river. Cool, but not cold. I love to swim (Dad always said I should have been born in District 4) but there aren't any good places in District 9. But this is utopia. I'm so glad that my life can end here.

I stroke down to the log half-imbedded in the silt and mud at the bottom of the river. It has a sturdy branch still sticking off of it. Just what I needed.

I want my dad. I love him so much. He's going to be so sad when I die, more sad than I am scared right at this moment. Maybe he'll kill himself too. Please daddy, don't do it. I love you, I love you so much.

I loop the rope over the branch several times before I begin tying an actual knot. Then I do, over and over, till the entire length of rope is just knots and maybe a foot's worth connecting me to the log in the ground.

It's peaceful and silent here. I love it. I'm home.

My lungs begin to tell me it's time to come up now.

I don't want to die. Please, someone save me.

I'm in pain now; my lungs are going to either shrivel into nothing or explode.

The sun filtering through the water is beautiful and ethereal.

My body panics without my permission, my fingers fumbling for the knots even though my mind hasn't told them to.

I'm only fourteen; this isn't fair. Did I do something wrong? Was I a bad person? Why are you trying to hurt me?

There's too many knots to untie before it ends. I made sure of that. Besides, when I tied them I had lungfuls of oxygen. Now I'm running out and my mind is getting fuzzy. No help to my fine motor control.

This feeling of drifting and being pulled is so much fun. I think of other fun things to make my last moments even better. I hum happily. Ring around the rosy.

My hands are slow and useless against the wet rope. My fingers begin to feel unwieldy.

I'm so afraid, and I don't even understand why. There are so many whys to be answered. Why am I here? Why are people evil? Why does death seem like an escape, even as I know in my heart that it isn't? A pocketful of posies.

My hands stop grasping. My body stops thrashing its little death ballet.

I love death. It's so easy. I mean, I'm done now. What does it matter if there's an afterlife or not? It's not like I'm ever going to have to deal with it. It's going to be so nice to just rest. Ashes, ashes.

My eyes go black, my heart stops beating, and I'm dead.

The world is torture and death is just as bad. Either way, you lose. Either way you suffer. There is no hope, and there never will be. We all fall down.

**Adrian Martinez, District 5**

The sun beats down. It's too warm for my taste.

I grasp my knives protectively. I'm using every particle of my being to make sure that if anything so much as rustles, I hear it. And it will have a rather nasty surprise. Namely, a knife in the vital organs.

I'm not sure exactly what my strategy is yet. Maybe I won't settle on one. I prefer to go by instinct. I know what I do by observing the world, so what I glean from my surroundings should tell me what to do. If my gut says someone's following me, then I'm probably right. I don't imagine things. Well, not usually. I did once when I was young. High fever.

So, no strategy will be the best strategy for me. Call me proud, but I can win. I'm sure it's within my capacity. Of course, losing is also possible. There are plenty of other strong kids. Well, a few.

I note every detail of my surroundings. My mental map of this arena will be perfect. That's going to be an asset. I'll be able to find sources of food or water without being too afraid of leaving existing sources. Last year's tributes did quite a bit of wandering around and slowly starving. But I don't plan on that.

Another tree comes into view in the distance. It's a little odd that there are so few of them, and the ones that are there are tiny. District 5's no jungle, but even we have more trees than this place.

Another odd thing: even though everything seems so flat, I couldn't see that tree from far away. Come to think of it, I haven't seen any tributes either. They can't all be hiding. The odds of that are small. So they must be obscured form my vision. Obviously something is wrong. This place isn't what it appears. This isn't natural.

Natural. It clicks.

The arena is manufactured. The Gamemakers have manipulated the land to give it the appearance of openness. It's a little chilling, that they can mold something as large as this arena to fit their whims. I shake it off. The situation is what it is. Now that I've figured it out, I can adapt. I'm good at that.

Something rustles, and I spin to face the sound. It's nothing. This time. I sigh. The downside of noticing everything? Everything has the potential to frighten you. This could get annoying.

I twitch toward a chirping noise. It's a bird, obviously.

Yes, this is going to get boring. At least, that's what I think until the bird attacks me.

**Surviving Contestants:**

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Hary Lumer (Hawr-ee Loo-mur)

Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: Nolaf Killt (No-lof Kilt)

Eviu Navers (Ee-vee-you Na-vurs)

District 4: Mattrick Brint (Ma-trick Brihnt)

Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: Indigo Resham (In-dih-go Resh-um)

Winona Sweet (Wih-no-nuh Sweet)

District 7: Kiteriin Fromet (Kit-er-een Fro-met)

District 8: Caspian Toushone (Cas-pee-in Too-shown)

Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)

District 9: Wilf Errol (Wilf Eh-roll)

District 10: Reno Serman (Ree-no Ser-mahn)

Jerrica DeJoro (Jare-ick-uh Deh-Jore-oh)

District 11: Dewq Deffen (Duke Def-in)

Berra Timsing (Bare-uh Tim-zing)


	4. Little Birdy

**Chapter 3**

**Baylyn Homer, District 1**

I yawn. Ah, sleeping in. One of my few passions. In District 1, most people have got good lives. I suppose my life could have been worse too. But it's a little hard to see your friends in their beautiful clean dresses complaining about boys and having to work while you just managed to avoid having to go down a street where two gangs were having a standoff. It makes them seem so silly and ungrateful. And you feel resentful and jealous. Then you think for a moment and let your mind point out that it's useless to think these thoughts against your friends. They don't understand what they have because they've grown up with it. The only way to show them what they have would be to take it away from them. And you don't want to do that to your friends, do you? Not if you're the person you thought you were. And you go back to finding joy in small things, like sleeping in.

I'm woken up by the sun in my eyes. Not pleasant, but it does appear to be about noon. I don't think I've ever slept in this late before, but I'm emotionally exhausted and not all that surprised.

I roll onto my side so I'm not looking into the sun, but don't bother to really get up. I've got all the time in the world now.

I look at the grass stems. It's like hair, if I were smaller. I run my fingers through some of the grass. I've always loved having my hair brushed. I wonder if there's some consciousness attached to these grasses that likes feeling someone stroking its hair.

No, of course there isn't. But it's fun to wonder.

I bet I'll be doing a lot of wondering in the days to come. I'll need something to keep me occupied, and my thoughts have always been my play place, my sanctuary. My home certainly never was. My father truly didn't see how abhorrent I found being forced into a marriage while my brothers drank and gambled our money away. My father thought it was the best ting for everyone and that I would be willing to marry off if it improved our lifestyle. Maybe I should have been. But my mind just resisted. I've never been in love, and I certainly don't want to sign away my only chance to do that to an older man.

But now I'm saved having to defy my father. If I win we'll be so rich that my brothers won't be able to gamble it away if they tried. If I don't then I will die unloved and unloving. Maybe it sounds sad, but I'd rather die untouched than held by one I don't care for.

Hmm. That is sad, isn't it?

Oh well. I can't change how I feel. Trust me, I tried. I respect my father, and I don't want to disobey him. I tried to love Becq, really I did. And he's a fine man. But that's all he is.

I'm snapped from my reveries as Adrian's foot slams down onto my stomach.

**Caspian Toushone, District 8**

"Meow. I'm part cat."

I sigh. It's only been a day and I already hate her more than ever before.

"What, Roe?"

"Uh, yeah. I don't even know. So don't ask."

Every bad thing a person could be, my mind projects onto Roe. Well, except actually being a bad person. She's annoyingly sweet. But everything else…she's stupid, she's ugly, she smells bad, she's loud, she's never shuts up, she-

I've got to stop thinking about this. I'm only going to feel like it's getting worse. It probably isn't, but when it sucks to start out with…

"My foot hurts. Can we stop?"

"No."

I'm nasty to the girl, I know. I just can't help it. Everything she does makes my skin crawl. It's only my sense of honor that's kept me here thus far. The girl needs someone like a starving cat needs a saucer of milk. I'm afraid I'm the only one willing to deal with her. I can't just abandon someone totally defenseless, so I'm stuck with her.

But seriously, as much of a jerk as I may seem like right now, you'd understand if you could smell her.

We crawl below the height of the grass to avoid being seen for not very long with Roe saying whatever random, rambly thing that pops into her head a fading out before she finishes her sentence properly. Nothing new there. Before I know it she starts again with the, "Yeah…Can we stop?"

My response is always, "No."

One thing I've noticed about Roe is that she likes to stop before she's really even tried. I keep her going for a full hour after the whining starts, until she collapses with, "But my muscles are saying 'nooooooooo'."

The girl is personifying her own muscles. It's just not fair.

I sit down. Not resting when Roe insists otherwise isn't going to do any good. I'll just tire myself out for when she's actually willing to get up and move.

I see a head above the grasses. I curse and pull Roe to the ground. It's that girl from District 7, with the crazy name. Katrina or something, except not. She looks too scared to be much of a threat, but there's no way I'm going to be risking it.

She's squatted down as low as she can without compromising her speed. It's pretty much useless, since she still stands head and shoulders above the grass. But nice try, anyway.

She looks like she's scared out of her wits, which doesn't quite mesh with her bold act of walking around practically fully erect. Only one other person has had the nerve to fully walk around in broad daylight like that. Wesley. Jeeze, he scares me.

I flatten myself as close to the ground as I can. Roe starts to whisper loudly and I shush her, trying not to use the letter s. Why not s, you say? Well, the hissing sounds you make when you say an s carries better than just about anything else. Since I don't want what's-her-face to hear, I need to make Roe be quiet without being noisy myself. Not as easy as it sounds, actually. Roe doesn't process things like most people do. You tell her to be quiet and her response is, "Um…yeah. But-" before you cut her off again.

At one point I think she sees us. She looks in our direction, but it turns out she didn't hear anything. She's just looking everywhere.

Though she's moving much faster than most people have been, her hunched-over progress still seems to take forever to me.

"Caspian-" Roes starts. I clamp my hand over her mouth, but it's too late. K-something's head whips toward us, eyes wide with terror. Then she does something that seems to go totally against the expression on her face: she charges us. I swear loudly; stealth is no use anymore. I turn and run, with Roe panting at my heels.

"Faster!" I bellow, and she kicks it up a notch. She's got to work pretty hard to keep up with those tiny little legs of hers. I can feel her beady eyes on my back. She can't do anything on her own. I swear, it's like having a really stupid dog. The animal will wander off on it's own and do something stupid like eat poop if you don't watch it. But it also has an annoying tendency to follow you around.

A spear flies past me, thrown about as well as you'd expect a random kid to throw a spear. Still enough to freak me out. I put on extra speed, panting with effort as Roe giggles through her nose about something I don't understand.

I glance back, expect K-chick to be right behind us. But to my surprise, she's running away. It takes me a moment to realize why. She must be out of weapons.

I slow, my chest burning, and heave a breath. Should I go after her?

Nah. I have Roe to deal with. And besides, I was so busy dragging her away from kids with weapons on the first day that I didn't have time to grab any weapons. I'm totally unarmed.

On second thought, maybe not totally.

I jog back to about where the spear landed and sure enough it's still there. So It was actually a good thing that K attacked us? Weird.

The ironic thing is that by trying to kill us, she's done more for this alliance than Roe has by being in it. I hate my life.

**Adrian Martinez, District 5**

My foot comes down on something hard, and I fall. When my trip is accompanied by a sharp crack and a shout of pain, I realize it was a person.

To add to the Things I've Learned From the Hunger Games So Far list: It's kind of hard to be observant when a bird is attempting to gouge out your eyes. Don't believe me? Just try to take my word for it; don't try it. You'll wish you hadn't.

My jaw smacks against a rock painfully, and I moan as I throw up my arms reflexively.

The bird's talons sink into my forearm and I yelp. As painful and scary as this is, I know what I need to do: get my and make turkey dinner. Unfortunately if I drop my arms I'm afraid of what will happen to my eyes.

I hear a pained gasp from the poor person I ran over, but then I feel decidedly less sympathetic as they snatch up my knife. They grab the bird by the neck, and before I know what's happened the head and the body have gone flying different directions. Then a knee comes down hard on my chest and Baylyn presses my knife to my throat.

I freeze. She's panting and has a wild look in her eyes. I'm afraid any move I make will provoke her.

After a moment, Baylyn frowns and her eyes clear with a blink.

"Oh. It's you." She groans, and falls to a seat next to me.

Apparently I'm not much of a worry to Baylyn Homer.

"Ow. Holy- OW!" She curses, gingerly touching her abdomen.

"Broken?" I guess.

"If you mean my ribs, then yeah." She answers. Her breathing is understandably labored.

"That's what I was referring to." I agree.

"You don't look too good yourself." She says, eyes turning to my arm with a look of disgust. A quick glance reveals why. My forearm has been minced, and is bleeding profusely.

"Yes, that looks bad," I agree before looking back at her. She raises an eyebrow, waiting for realization to really hit. It hits, and I do a double take. No wonder I feel so light-headed. No wonder it took me so long to realize I was bleeding.

My head swims and I stare blankly at my torn flesh.

"Adrian?" Baylyn says.

"It would be my guess that unless I bind my wound soon I am going to bleed out." I say faintly.

Baylyn looks at me.

"Right." I grunt, pulling bandages from my pack.

She winces as she tries to sit up. "I guess I'll just leave that to you." She groans, and falls back down.

I nod, needing my focus to make my light-headed brain cooperate. Is this what it's like to be other people all the time? If so, you have my pity.

My head is swimming from blood loss, Baylyn is useless (thanks to me) and my arm is mutilated. Something occurs to me. I could die.

I could die here. Not in my own bed, surrounded by family, but just die after being attacked. By a _bird_, no less! A non-sentient being. I won't let that happen, if only to save myself the humiliation.

I grit my teeth and begin coiling the bandage around my torn arm. This is going to be fun.

**Surviving Contestants:**

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Hary Lumer (Hawr-ee Loo-mur)

Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: Nolaf Killt (No-lof Kilt)

Eviu Navers (Ee-vee-you Na-vurs)

District 4: Mattrick Brint (Ma-trick Brihnt)

Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: Indigo Resham (In-dih-go Resh-um)

Winona Sweet (Wih-no-nuh Sweet)

District 7: Kiteriin Fromet (Kit-er-een Fro-met)

District 8: Caspian Toushone (Cas-pee-in Too-shown)

Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)

District 9: Wilf Errol (Wilf Eh-roll)

District 10: Reno Serman (Ree-no Ser-mahn)

Jerrica DeJoro (Jare-ick-uh Deh-Jore-oh)

District 11: Dewq Deffen (Duke Def-in)

Berra Timsing (Bare-uh Tim-zing)


	5. Tweedle Tree, Tweedle Dumb

**A/N**- The errors in Roe's POV are intentional. Also, about Roe's POV: It's incredibly difficult to write. This tiny passage contributed a whole day to the delay of this chapter. I don't know that we'll be hearing much from her. Sorry, guys.

**Chapter 4**

**Eewyn Carre, District 2**

"So…what do we do with it?" I ask. "Or...him."

He whimpers in terror. Turns out Evita's not too shabby with a snare, as well as being able to fish. She's the fighter in this outfit. I'm the planner. But now that this plan has come to fruition, I'm not sure quite what to do.

"I suppose we need to kill him." Evita says with a frown.

I frown as he pants, panic heaving his thin chest. He's sixteen, a year older than me, but I feel much more powerful. Having your opponent unarmed and tied to a tree tends to do that. But although I have power, I don't have the impetus to use it. I have no clue what to do with this boy. Obviously he needs to die, but there's a big difference between thinking something like that and actually making it come true. And now I'm hovering on the edge of a decision.

I've never been good at making choices. If I think too long, I never solve anything. I just wonder up new complications. So I tend to just do or say the first thing that comes to mind, because I know if I wait I'll end up doing nothing at all. Luckily for me, the first thing that comes to mind is usually a spot-on solution.

I make a snap decision. I plop my butt down next to him, toss him an apple from our stash and bite into one of my own.

"Wilf, right? And you're sixteen?" I begin conversationally.

He and Evita look at me like it's suddenly some shocking, bizarre ritual to make sure you've got someone's name right.

"What?" I say grumpily.

"Eewyn, we need to kill him." Evita insists.

I think hard about this for a moment. I've got to seriously consider her suggestion or this alliance isn't worth our time. But I just can't convince myself that this is a good idea.

"No. We're not going to kill him. We'll leave him tied to the tree. But for now, let's not be nasty to the kid, 'kay?"

Evita looks at me hard and long, and I feel the energy in the air change. She's debating whether or not to do what I say. These are the moments when Evita's dangerous. When she begins to think for herself.

"Come on. You want everyone in the arena to see you? Trust me, you need some beauty rest. Now sit down." I say casually. More tension may just make this fragile moment snap.

"When you said you weren't a total jerk, you never mentioned you were such a pussy." Evita grumbles as she sits down and crosses her legs.

"Not a pussy, just an idealist." I reply. "Now, where you from, Wilf?" I ask.

"D-dis-district 9." He squeaks, too scared to even be embarrassed by his voice. I'm not too scared to find it funny, however.

"Woooooow. Did you just hear your voice? That was manly." I snicker. Abruptly I ask, "You going to eat that apple or not?"

Wilf slowly shakes his head.

"Fin," I huff, "If you won't talk to us and you won't eat with us, we've got no real reason to hang around. Come on, Evita." I say, snatching up our small packs and marching off. I drop to my knees after a few feet and crawl.

"Why couldn't we just kill him?" Hisses Evita as she crawls in the wake left by my passage.

"I had a bad feeling about killing him. If we leave him out in the open someone will get to him sooner or later anyway. We don't need to start killing any sooner than necessary, right?"

"Well-"

"Well nothing, Evita. We'll kill when we need to. If we mind our own business for the moment we can avoid making enemies. We don't want to end up like that To girl from District 3 do we?" I say, and edge in my voice.

"…No." She grumbles.

"Don't worry, my violent little friend. We'll fight when it's best for us." I say with a smirk. Evita is silent.

I spit a piece of grass out of my mouth and push more down in front of me. Evita went first yesterday, so it's my turn to trail blaze today. My hand goes through the thin layer of grasses into a trampled down section of grass. Someone's been here. The question now is: where did they go?

"Hey, Evita. Come check this out." I say.

**Mattrick Brint, District 4**

It's hard to stay positive in here. That District 1 girl tried to knife me on the first day. I was mad, but I'm no good at fighting.

I'm still trying to figure out why I got sent in here. It's not fair. I'm a good person. I follow the law. I wasn't one of the rebels. Shouldn't they just make bad people fight and leave the ones who do what they should go on with their lives? But I'm sure the Capitol has a reason. They always have a reason. Well, most of the time.

I don't understand why they instituted these Games. Or at least, why they did it for all of the Districts. District 4 didn't rebel, or 2, or 1, or 7. I can understand the punishment of the other Districts, but we should have been spared. But they must have a reason. They've always had a reason before.

And why me? Or any of the rest of us who don't hate the Capitol. You wouldn't think eliminating people truly at random would be as effective as picking out the people who deserved it.

Maybe…maybe my parents did something bad. I mean, I'm not saying they would. No way. They're like the least likely people to start a rebellion. So don't pay them a "visit", please. Caree's parents got visited a year or so ago and…well, they must have done something really bad.

But my parents would never do that, no way. They always taught me to be grateful to the Capitol. They always raised me right. If they hadn't meant that, they wouldn't have raised me that way, right?

I'm so busy worrying about my upbringing that I don't notice the root before I trip over it.

A root? That's weird. There're no trees. So…

The root begins to move. Which is when I realize this is not a normal root. Not at all.

**Dewq Deffen, District 11**

From my hiding spot in the valley between two hills, I can't really see much. And the constant swishing of grass is getting really annoying. I just want to say, "Shut up!" But grass doesn't speak English. Pity.

I shift myself slightly again. At least it's warm. I hate cold weather. District 11, whatever else you can say about it, has great weather. Very sunny, and not too cold in winter. Although winter's always hard since the plants don't grow. Some people can't find work between seasons. It's always a hungry time until it warms up again. Only so many people can plow and prepare the same field. Winter is a thin time for us, even more so than the other Districts.

That's the one thing that really makes me dislike the richer Districts. I don't care that they are loyal to the Capitol. I just hate how they seem to turn their collective nose up at the rest of us. We live harder and shorter lives, and we pack more meaning into them than ten spoiled little rich kids. People like Baylyn, who haven't had it easy, are okay. But some of them just tick me off. Like that Mattrick kid. He seems to think the Capitol is all sunshine and roses.

I grit my teeth and focus. I have chosen to set aside a lot of luxuries in this arena: my taste in food, a good night's sleep, some of my morals, and one of these luxuries is strong emotion. If I get too involved in my surroundings, there's no way I will be able to see things clearly. I need to remain focused. Caring about others got a lot of kids killed the first time around. I have decided I am not going to care. It's much easier to think clearly.

I do wish this wasn't so boring though. I can't even sleep because I might be caught. I kick my feet grumpily. Trust me, you would too.

**Roe Tamden, District 8**

I dunno why Caspian's bein' such a meanie, cause he. Yeah. He's a meanie. But I still love Caspian cuz he's my friend, and I love my friends even when they're being meanies. So yeah. Umm…

It's too hot out and I don't like it cuz it's too hot. So I wish it was kinda cooler like at District 8 where home is. I miss it cuz I miss my mom and my cat. My cat is named Prince. My other cat it died and I was sad but I got Prince. I wonder what mom is doin'.

"I'm missing home so if you see me crying that's why." I tell Caspian.

"Okay. Sorry." Caspian he says.

"Prince clawed me yesterday." I tell him.

Caspian looks at me a little funnily. "Who the heck is Prince?"

"My kitty. I miss him." I tell Caspian.

"Roe, that wasn't yesterday." Caspian says. "You were _here _yesterday, remember?"

Uh…

"I was maybe going to go out with this guy at school. He has short hair and he looks at me a lot."

"Cool?"

"He was really liking me, for some reason."

"Oh. Okay."

"Oh, and-"

"Please shut up, Roe."

"Uh, yeah."

I guess that, uh…yeah. Caspian, he doesn't want to talk. He's super duper quiet. I giggle. Super duper is funny. Super duper huper puper. I giggle. Puper. That sound like poop.

"What?" Caspian say.

"Super duper huper puper." I giggle. Caspian give me a funny look and his nose is all wrinkled and he went back to walking. So I guess he couldn't find the funny. Tha's okay, lotsa people can't. I just guess they mind don't work in the same way.

Super duper huper puper luper…

**Berra Timsing, District 11**

For me, food is no issue. The District 11 kids last year were apparently at work in packaging and management or something, because neither of them was up to par for the plant knowledge of a field worker.

The list on my tree has four names etched into it. I stare at my own spot on that tree. F11. It doesn't feel like it is in any way related to me. I'm so much more than a letter and two numbers. But maybe that's all that I am to someone in this arena. Maybe this tree has symbolism beyond what I understand. Obviously, I am little more than this to the Capitol. I'm walking, talking, entertainment. I also happen to think, but who cares about little details like that? Not them.

I hesitate, deciding whether or not to scratch out this reference on the tree. No. I won't. I don't think anything could make the arena any more dehumanizing, so there's really no point. Besides, it's going to be useful to know who's still alive.

I wonder how fast these Hunger Games are going to go? The last Games were stretched out for like a month and a half. The Capitol didn't seem happy about that. I think it reminded them that they may rule us, but they don't control us.

I wonder about the boy who won, Wrianin Abro. I wonder if I want to be like him, always in mourning and kept low by painkillers all the time. Yes. I'd rather be like him than not be. I'm sure of that. The problem is that I don't know if I'm strong enough to do that. You have to earn your life in these Games, and you can't do that by being a good person. But…I am a good person. As far as I know, anyway. So how am I going to do this? Just count on the others all getting simultaneous heart attacks? The sad thing is that's my best plan at the moment. Better than killing.

I'm weak. I feel like I should put on some war paint and just go on a killing spree. The only problem is that I couldn't do that. Never in a million years. So what do I do? Sit tight, I guess. Get some more plants to snack on. I'm out of…whatever I have at the moment. I recognize it, but it's not something I harvest. Definitely edible, though.

I swing down from the branch. That's mostly for fun, since the tree's so tiny. It's no good for protection. I drop to my knees and scramble along. The grass is a little thin here, so I move fast. Don't want to get caught out here by someone bigger and meaner. That would be bad for my health.

Someone yelps. It's a boy so it's not really a scream, but it's pretty clear that whoever it is is in danger. I hesitate. If I check it out, whatever's got them could get me too. Or they could get me after I help them. But…

I stand up. In the distance is something I didn't see before. Another tree. And it's big. But…that's impossible. I couldn't have missed a tree in this landscape. I'm sure that wasn't there before. Which could easily be explained by the fact that the tree is moving.

I am from District 11, which is pretty much the land of plants. But I have never seen a tree move before. It's using its roots like tentacles. And like arms. It's got a kid that it's shaking. And as it turns I realize it's got its sights on another kid now too. Me.

**Surviving Contestants:**

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Hary Lumer (Hawr-ee Loo-mur)

Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: Nolaf Killt (No-lof Kilt)

Eviu Navers (Ee-vee-you Na-vurs)

District 4: Mattrick Brint (Ma-trick Brihnt)

Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: Indigo Resham (In-dih-go Resh-um)

Winona Sweet (Wih-no-nuh Sweet)

District 7: Kiteriin Fromet (Kit-er-een Fro-met)

District 8: Caspian Toushone (Cas-pee-in Too-shown)

Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)

District 9: Wilf Errol (Wilf Eh-roll)

District 10: Reno Serman (Ree-no Ser-mahn)

Jerrica DeJoro (Jare-ick-uh Deh-Jore-oh)

District 11: Dewq Deffen (Duke Def-in)

Berra Timsing (Bare-uh Tim-zing)


	6. Happiness or Fear

**A/N**- A special thank you to start off this chapter. When my usual beta left for camp, I thought I was in deep trouble. But my dear friend Claratrix LeChatham Stepped up to the plate. Thanks so much, Clara!

**Chapter 5**

**Mattrick Brint, District 4**

It's embarrassing to admit it, but I'm screaming like a little girl. You have to cut me some slack, though. I just got attacked by a _tree_. That's just not right. I dunno how the Gamemakers did this, but it is freaky, man!

The tree sweeps up some other kid. Judging by the fact that her skin is a chocolaty brown, she must be the District 11 girl. She screams and twists frantically. It only got her by the ankles, but I'm so wrapped up I can barely move.

"Do something!" 11 and I shout at each other in unison.

"Me?" I squeak. "I can't move my arms!"

"Well excuse me for not getting a good enough look at you while a possessed tree is trying to brain me!"

"Yeah, you're excused." I retort.

"Stop whining and help me figure out how the heck we're going to get away from this thing!" She calls.

"Who are you anyway?" I shout.

"Oh, you've got to be _kidding_ me," She exclaims. "Is that _really_ important right now?"

"Alright, alright!" I snap back, "Do you even have any weapons?"

11 yelps.

"What?" I shout, "Whatwhatwhatwhat?"

"It almost smashed my head against a rock!" She complains.

"I- UMPH!" I grunt as it knock the wind out of me.

The roots plunge back into the ground and the tree stops abruptly.

I gasp ineffectively, trying to breathe again. But it doesn't seem to be helping. I'm no taking in any air. It's a weird feeling, not being able to breathe. It's like there's something hard in my chest and the air can't get past it. Or even down my throat for that matter.

I hear a sawing sound and the girl grumbling to herself loudly. Figures she doesn't bother to ask me if I'm okay.

Finally, I manage a wheeze of breath and force out, "I'm…okay. Barely."

"How nice for you," she says sarcastically.

"Why are you such a b-" I start to say and then yelp as a lower branch whips past me head, almost decapitating me.

"In case you're too stupid to figure it out, I'm kind of having a bad day," she growls.

"Well, so am I. And I can still remember my manners. Look out!" I shout.

The girl screams and curls herself into a ball barely in time to avoid being smashed against a normal tree.

"You're clear!" I shout.

She miserably straightens herself back out and starts sawing at the branch again. I think she's crying.

"I hate trees, I hate trees, I _hate_ trees," She whimpers.

"I thought you were from District 11!"

"I am!"

"Don't you all love plants and stuff there?"

"That is so stereotyped!"

"Gee, sorry!" I snap. "Hey! Small hill coming up on your right! And then another straight ahead."

11 twists to the left to avoid the first hill, and then painfully pulls her abdomen up to avoid the next one. She moans in pain and relaxes, panting. She's limp and panting, and I panic. She's giving up. She can't give up! Not till we're out of this tree, anyway.

"Keep going!" I shout.

"I am! This harder than it looks,"

"Hey…you'll do me once you're done, right?"

"No!"

"What?"

"You have die eventually for me to get out. If a tree does it, then I don't have to!"

"But- but- you would have gotten brained like three times without me!" I complain.

This is bad. This is _really_ bad. I have no weapons and I couldn't use them even if I did. If 11 doesn't get me out of this tree, I'm not getting out until the hovercraft takes me.

"Yeah, and thanks," 11 says. She doesn't sound so mad anymore. She sounds unhappy. Unhappy is a good sign. Unhappy means second thoughts. "But I couldn't even get over to you if I tried."

"Well…stretch you leg far towards me and let the tree grab it." I tell her.

Her response is immediate. "What? No way! I'll never be able to do that. I haven't even got one foot free yet. To get over there to you would take an hour, at least! I'm not strong enough to-"

"Fine. Then I'll stop telling you when the tree is trying to smash you against something."

11 is backwards and upside down. She might be able to both avoid oncoming obstacles and cut herself loose, but it would be tricky. Meanwhile the tree would be finding new things to smash her head against.

"Fine. I'll get you too," she grumbles.

"I think this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful partnership," I say, half joking and half still angry at her and seeking revenge.

"No it won't," I hear her grumble to herself. "I'm going to rip you to shreds if you don't shut up."

11 is the one with the knife, so I do.

**Wesley Sawr, District 1**

The kid, Wilf, is scared out of his wits. He should be. I am spitting mad, and he's tied to a tree. He needs to die for me to survive, and I am not afraid to kill him. Wilf Errol's time is up.

He struggles against the tree and the ropes that are tying him, but it's no use. Whoever left me this little present was good at tying basic knots. He's not going anywhere.

Grinning, I jam the knife into his stomach. I ignore the sounds of pain he makes and keep stabbing him until he's limp and dead for sure. His stomach is a bloody mess of gore and torn skin, but I don't care. My second kill. It feels good, knowing that I have power. All my life I've been controlled. By my parents, by the Capitol, by everyone. And I can't take it. I'm not going to be stifled anymore. I am going to fight for my freedom, and anyone who gets in my way will have to die.

I'm scary, aren't I? I frighten you. Not that I blame you. I'm doing frightening things, I know. The things I'm feeling aren't normal. So am I evil? Am I crazy? Probably both. But this is how I am, and I'm not going to change that for you or anyone else.

Wilf has nothing with him. I bet whoever tied him to the tree rolled him pretty well when they did it. I growl in frustration. I can't just kill. I need food and water too.

I wipe my knife on the leg of his pants and stalk off. I don't bother hiding below the grasses. I want a fight, but no one can fight me if they don't know where I am. And if they're the kind who just runs away from everyone and hides, they'll die on their own, eventually. I want to seek out and destroy the people who are a threat. That's how I'm going to win.

**Kiteriin Fromet, District 7**

I try not to yelp as I hear a rustling sound. Oh, this isn't happening. I'm having a terrible dream. No, this is some twisted practical joke. Or my thoughts are being controlled by…aliens. Maybe? Ugh, this is ridiculous! But I can't face the truth, so I'll cower behind fantasies if I have to.

I rock back and forth on the balls of my feet. I think my head is below the top of the grass, but it hardly matters to me at the moment. I am having one of my periodic meltdowns. They're very therapeutic. I have got so many emotions, thoughts, and fears rifling through my being at any one moment that I don't know what to do with them. So I snap. Again. And again. It doesn't seem to have hurt me any, yet. I suppose it might not be good to just break down so much, but I don't know what else to do.

A new feeling hits me. It's one of those flashes of resolve.

Staggering to my feet, I wobble off in a random direction. Must keep moving. I must. I must keep fighting. I can't die. No, no, no!

I _have_ to live! For me, for my family, and because I'm just so afraid of the unknown. I almost wouldn't mind being dead if I knew what I was going to face. If I knew there was Heaven, or nothingness, or reincarnation, I would run to it. But I can't just go without knowing. I don't know why, but I can't.

Breaking down again, I sob convulsively. I need a weapon, but I lost my spear. I'll need to kill to get another one. How can I kill without a weapon? That would mean touching someone, being so connected to the pain I'm causing. I don't think I can do that. Maybe I can, but if I risk it and find that I can't then I'll die. Oh, I'm so scared to die.

I try so hard to shut out thoughts of death and gloom. _It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter._ I won't die. You understand, right? You know how it feels to only be able to feel one thing is true and real. The only thing that seems to be real to me right now is my need to survive.

And the fear.

**Winona Sweet, District 6**

I'm a simple person. I don't know if you noticed. I've never been rich, or a genius, or popular. But I've always been happy. My life was fine, no matter what went wrong. When my grandma died I was sad, but I kept going. When I watched the kids in the Hunger Games die last year, it was scary, but I tried to keep my smile and my happiness. I tried to give and take love. Now, even that's over.

I have some food, a blanket, and a water bottle that's empty already. This isn't enough anymore. It's not enough, because I know that I need more than food and stuff to win. I need a meanness that I just don't have. I can't hurt, or kill. It's not who I am. I will never win.

As I sob into my sleeve, I am careful to be quiet. Just because I know I'm going to die doesn't mean I want to die soon.

I try to remember all the snippets of advice that Wrianin gave Indigo and me before we went in. He told us so many things, and I forgot most of them. Only one thing he said is still stuck in my head. He said, "Have plenty of allies, but no friends. Friends are too painful to lose."

Wrianin lost a lot of friends, I know. Then again, he was also willing to kill a person, a human. I can't, so I'll never escape. So can't I have friends, if there's no chance of me outliving them? I want friends so badly. I don't really care who it is, but I want someone to be happy with for as long as I can. That's a friend for sure. Someone who is always ready to be with you and make you happy. But I don't know anyone in here except for Indigo, and I don't even know where he is. I'm alone.

I know how sad losing his friends made Wrianin, but he's better because he knew them, I'm sure. If he hadn't met all those people and learned to care about them, he would have lost a lot of happiness. I think the happiness would make up for the sadness.

Finally, I've stopped crying. Now that I've accepted that I'm going to die, it's not as scary anymore. I still wish I could go back to living my life and being happy, but maybe there are ways to be happy in here too. If there are, I'm going to find them.

So what can I do to be happy? Well, I can start by eating more. I can… let myself sleep in, even if it's dangerous. I can try to make friends, seeing as I'm good at that. I can think about the happy things I used to know back home. Yeah. I can do all of those for starters. Maybe this happiness thing isn't so hard after all.

**Surviving Contestants:**

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Hary Lumer (Hawr-ee Loo-mur)

Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: Nolaf Killt (No-lof Kilt)

Eviu Navers (Ee-vee-you Na-vurs)

District 4: Mattrick Brint (Ma-trick Brihnt)

Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: Indigo Resham (In-dih-go Resh-um)

Winona Sweet (Wih-no-nuh Sweet)

District 7: Kiteriin Fromet (Kit-er-een Fro-met)

District 8: Caspian Toushone (Cas-pee-in Too-shown)

Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)

District 9: none

District 10: Reno Serman (Ree-no Ser-mahn)

Jerrica DeJoro (Jare-ick-uh Deh-Jore-oh)

District 11: Dewq Deffen (Duke Def-in)

(And P.S.- Anybody who realized the name Wilf Errol was inspired by Will Ferrel...g'job!)

Berra Timsing (Bare-uh Tim-zing)


	7. House Call

**Chapter 6**

**Adrian Martinez, District 5**

I must admit, I'm worried about Baylyn. The sun is going down, and she doesn't look too good. She can't really go much of anywhere with her broken ribs, and I'm not so hot myself ever since my arm got ripped up. We're a couple of invalid old coots, I guess. But as long as we don't die, I'm fine with that.

The anthem begins to play. I recognize the faces, of course. Wilf Errol from District 3 and Mikki Kismet from District 9. I tell Baylyn, but it doesn't seem like she cares much.

"I don't know. I just don't want to start feeling close to them," She says reluctantly.

I nod. "I understand."

We sit in silence for a moment, until Baylyn shifts slightly and winces in pain.

I frown. I don't like seeing her in pain, but I don't know how to help her ribs.

"Sorry Baylyn," I say. It's not my fault, I know. But it's the only thing I can think to say to show solidarity. "Anything I can do?"

She chuckles darkly. "Not unless you have magic powers."

"Wish we had one of those District 2 kids, huh? Medicine and all."

"Maybe you do have one."

We whip around. The tall grasses part, and the image of a smallish sort of boy is defined in the artificial light from the sky. He must have snuck up on us pretty well, because I had no idea he was behind us. I'm a little annoyed, to be honest. I don't like the idea that something could happen right behind my back and I could miss it. That's not like me.

I can see him vaguely by the light of the fading seal. His hair is straw blond, with little streaks of brown. Actually, it kind of looks like straw too, the way it sticks into thin clumps. He's skinny, with lots of freckles, I think. His eyes look gray, but it's a little hard to tell with the colors of the seal reflecting off of them. He holds out his hand.

"Hary Lumer. Pleased to meet you."

I shake tentatively, deciding not to point out that I already knew his name. Don't feel like explaining the photographic memory things at the moment. "Err...Adrian Martinez."

He holds his hand out to Baylyn.

"Baylyn Homer."

"So, you two in need of a doctor?" He asks.

"Uh, yeah. How'd you know?" I ask.

"I heard you two talking during the anthem. That's how I snuck up on you, by the way. Your attention was on the anthem and each other. Might want to watch that. Dropping your focus could be bad," he says matter-of-factly. It's annoying. Of course we know this. What does he think we are, idiots?

"What's the damage, then?" He asks, rubbing his hands together.

"Broken ribs, we think," Baylyn says with a wince. Actually, when I say wince, I mean a larger and more noticeable wince. She winces a little bit every time she breathes. I frown. She's in pain, and it's my fault even if I didn't mean it. I guess these are the Hunger Games, but I respect Baylyn. I'll have to hurt people to win, but I would prefer she not be one of them.

"May I?" Hary asks politely. Baylyn nods and he puts a hand on her ribcage. He pokes her intently for a few moments, and she sucks in a breath of pain.

"Yep. Broken," he announces. "I take it you'll want my help?"

"You're going to heal Baylyn, just like that?" I say suspiciously.

"No. Of course you'll have to pay me," he says.

"In...food?" I ask.

"Works for me," Hary says with a shrug.

"I don't know. We're a little low on-" I begin, but he cuts me off.

"You want her to keep stumbling around with broken ribs? What if she punctures a lung or something?"

My mouth works. Can that happen? I don't know. He's either conning us or Baylyn's in danger. I don't like this feeling or not knowing if I'm being used. Normally I can read anyone, like an open book. It's all about observation, something I'm pretty dang good at. But now there's a little voice in the back of my head asking, "But what if you're wrong?"

"Okay, fine," I grumble.

"Alright. A bottle of water, and a days worth of food to treat her ribs?" Lumer confirms.

"Yeah."

"Let's get started then," Lumer says, rubbing his hands together again. I'm starting to find that really annoying. He cracks his neck and tells Baylyn to lie down. He rolls her shirt up almost too far for comfort and begins fishing around in his bag. He pulls out, of all things, tape. Medical tape, but still. His hands gently move across her ribcage, finding the break. He begins laying down stripes of tapes.

"What are those supposed to do?" I ask irritably.

"Restrict movement, but not breathing." He answers absently.

It takes a couple minutes for him to finish, after which he rolls Baylyn's shirt back down.

"So...is that it?" She asks with a grimace. Obviously this has not something she enjoyed so much.

"That's about it, except for painkiller," He agrees. "For that you can use Capitol medicine, poppy, turmeric, or even olive oil if you can get your hands on a bottle."

"How do we know what those look like?" I ask.

"Here. I have some I can show you," Lumer rummages in his bag again, before pulling out a couple of plants and some pills. After a brief lesson in plant recognition, Lumer's ready to close this business deal and go. I shell out the food and water reluctantly, and he smiles pleasantly.

"Pleasure doing business with you folks," he says with a smile. He flips his shaggy hair out of his eyes and heads off, walking fully upright under the cover of the night.

"Us girls. We are sure are high maintenance," Baylyn jokes, biting her lip as she leans back, gasping as her ribs are mildly jolted.

"Sure are," I grumble. And I'm not joking at all.

**Berra Timsing, District 11**

He's so infuriating. I tried to lose him, but he wouldn't be left behind.

Once I cut myself free enough times to make my way over to Mattrick, the tree had stopped moving. No warning, no explanation. Just stopped. I kept cutting. I was tired. Exhausted. I barely managed to stay conscious to cut him down (but I was awake enough to appreciate the grunt he gave as he landed on his back) and then free my ankles for the last time.

He caught me when I fell, which I found really annoying. I didn't want to feel grateful to this jerk. But then again, he was a lot softer than the ground. I didn't even notice that he'd gotten his arms out of the branches or vines or arms or whatever, but he caught me. He put me down and started cutting off the braches that had twisted around his waist. I couldn't have cared less. I just wanted to go to sleep.

All of the sudden I heard him swear. It was kind of a funny word, probably a District 4 thing. I forced my head up and opened my eyes a tiny bit. Hmm. Apparently the tree was attacking again. Funny, but I somehow didn't care anymore.

Mattrick was shouting something. I think he was shouting at me, probably to watch out or help. I was pretty much incapable of anything but lying there at that point, so I ignored him. I was so sore. It had taken more than an hour, doing what was pretty much curl ups the whole time. My stomach muscles were so tense I figured they were self-destructing

His hand gripped my shoulder, but I didn't respond. To my surprise, he tossed me over his shoulder and booked it. I would never have pegged him as the strong type; he was too annoying.

I forced my head up. I was over his shoulder, looking back at the tree. Well, the sort of tree. I was suddenly wide-awake.

The tree had risen up again, using its roots like spiders' legs. I could see the part where the trunk connected the ground. Underneath it there weren't just roots. There was a…something hanging below it. Something that looks very mammalian. It was like there was some growth on the bottom of the tree.

Then Mattrick tripped.

I went flying over his head. I rolled to a stop, eyes flashing wildly with adrenaline. The tree overtook Mattrick almost immediately. I thought he was a goner (and me too, in effect), but as the tree barreled over him, he buried the knife, over and over, into the whatever-it-was growing from the trunk.

The tree made this horrible screeching noise before it fell. Mattrick scampered backwards on his butt, eyes wide. The branches and roots thrashed in…death throes, I guess.

We sat wide-eyed and watched as the thing stopped moving with a moaning sound. The…thing was dead. And what _was_ it, really? It must have been some bizarre mutt, a grafting together of animal and vegetable. In silence, Mattrick and I began to laugh. It was an unstable laugh of pure relief, but nothing else would have fit.

I'd fallen asleep almost immediately. The anthem woke me up. I frowned. I wouldn't be able to etch my tree tonight. I'd have to wait for tomorrow. After the two faces slipped out of the sky I went back to sleep. I expected Mattrick to split during the night (probably with my knife), but when I woke up he was still here, all bright and shiny.

"Goooooood morning," he chirped. "I found some kinda eggs in a bird's nest a little way off. I don't have any matches though, so we'll have to eat them r-"

"Wait," I interrupted, "Why are you still here?"

He raised an eyebrow. "We're allies now, so shouldn't we-"

"What? No we aren't. Since when?" I butt in again.

"Since we fought the monster tree. Y'know, with the whole," he makes a weird face and wiggles his fingers like the vine branches, mimicking the tree's dying roars, "thing."

"That was a one-time thing, sorry. I don't want any allies," I say firmly.

"Well…too bad for you. Because you're stuck with me now," he said with a smile.

And let me tell you, he was serious.

"Will you just _go away_?" I shout for the billionth time.

"Nope," he chirps.

Nothing I have done has been enough to lose this boy. And I'm about to hurt somebody. Somebody named Mattrick Brint.

But I don't. At least, I'm not going to _yet_.

**Jerrica DeJoro, District 10**

I clutch my small axe. I've never used one before, but it was the first thing I happened to grab at the horn thing.

My cheeks are dry, but it's mostly because I ran out of tears on the first day. Or at least, the honest to goodness tears that leave sticky-salty tracks down my cheeks. I still feel like I'm crying. There's that rushing weakness, that trembling. That lack of willingness to change things.

Inside, I'm still crying.

A rustling that is not my own breaks my concentration as I stumble through the tall foliage. I freeze in terror and a white-blond head breaks through the grass

Surprisingly, I recognize her. Kiteriin Fromet, from District 7. The only reason I paid attention to her was because she was the only one who cried almost as much as me. But she's not crying right now. Now the look in her eyes is fierce and…murderous.

She screams a battle cry, and I turn and run in terror. I hear her feet thumping behind me. I should turn and fight. I have my axe. But I can't. Tears find their way down my cheeks as I run for my life, too stupid, afraid, and helpless to turn and save myself.

_I hate me._

That thought explodes behind my temples, and my tears now fall in frustration. Why am I so weak?

I trip over a rock, sprawling forward. Kiteriin grabs my axe as I fall, her teeth bared like a madwoman's. She flips me over and raises the axe above her head.

There's no escaping it, as the axe swings downward. Everything feels slow, but I'm slow too. I can't move in time. But I can think in time.

My tears have done nothing. I have sat and cried and cried, and all I have to show for it is swollen eyes and a legacy of cowardice. My tears are disgraceful. My tears were never a comfort, but I was too weak to do anything else. I don't want to be weak anymore.

I steel myself as Kiteriin swings down. I still the tremors in the core of myself; I stop the rain down my cheeks. I will face my death, not with cowardice, but defiance.

With my last breath, I stop crying.

**Surviving Contestants:**

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Hary Lumer (Hawr-ee Loo-mur)

Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: Nolaf Killt (No-lof Kilt)

Eviu Navers (Ee-vee-you Na-vurs)

District 4: Mattrick Brint (Ma-trick Brihnt)

Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: Indigo Resham (In-dih-go Resh-um)

Winona Sweet (Wih-no-nuh Sweet)

District 7: Kiteriin Fromet (Kit-er-een Fro-met)

District 8: Caspian Toushone (Cas-pee-in Too-shown)

Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)

District 9: none

District 10: Reno Serman (Ree-no Ser-mahn)

District 11: Dewq Deffen (Duke Def-in)

Berra Timsing (Bare-uh Tim-zing)

District 12: none


	8. Keep Smiling

**Chapter 7**

**Indigo Resham, District 6**

**Day five.**

It's been a whole day since anything deadly happened, so I'm beginning to expect the "Gamemakers" will be up to something any day now. Whatever it is they plan on doing to us. But I'm on alert.

I'm the kind who's always smiling. It's not because I'm hiding some sort of inner pain or something like that, I just honestly see the world as a good place. Well, not _good_ exactly. More like it's better than not existing at all. The world is what it is and no amount of being angry about it is going to change it. I'm all for making the world a better place, but I'm not the sort to wallow in misery while I do it. As cliché as it is, my favorite saying is, "It's not the years in your life, it's the life in your years."

If I die today, I'll have had a better life than Wrianin Abro, no matter how many years he lives in agony. If I get out, I will find a way to be happy in my victor's life. The Hunger Games are meant to cause death and sadness. If I can beat them at their own cruel little Game by surviving it with a smile, then I'm going to do it. It's the only way I can think to rebel.

I wander aimlessly. I hope I find water or something, but I'm mostly just moving because it's boring to stand still. Safer, but intolerable. And I'm mostly focusing on enjoying my sentence as best I can, so dangerous and stupid it is.

I hope my family's doing the same. My mom was crying when I left, and she said dad couldn't even bear to come. I hated it. They know how hard I try to keep smiling. They should have at least tried to be strong enough to do the same for me. But I let her break down. I can understand why she acted the way she did. Heck, I wanted to do the exact same thing. But I didn't, and I had to sit there with me my smile frozen on my face while she sobbed.

My sisters too. There's one older than me and one younger. Neither of them tries to keep smiling the way I do. Kalba, my older sister, always said that one person could only take so much optimism, and I was already giving her a little too much. Jeezee, a year younger than me at fourteen, was just introduced to trouble at a young age, when a peacekeeper beat her friend's brother to death in front of her and her friend. They were four.

But the only difference between an optimist and a pessimist is how much they let things bother them. And I just don't, because it helps me and other people around me to see someone smiling and moving on. Besides, what will dwelling on something really accomplish? Misery, that's what.

**Evita Cormichael, District 4**

I don't understand Eewyn. A fifteen-year-old kid, she orders me around like she's my mother. And she somehow always makes me see her point, no matter how much I may be set against following her plan. If I didn't like the girl for some reason, I would have stabbed her and moved on. But as much as I'll never admit it to her, Eewyn Carre has become my friend. But that doesn't mean I have to be nice to her.

"Look, will you just come on?" I snap. She's been sitting there, legs crossed thoughtfully, staring at the grass waving in front of her face, for at least a half an hour now. She's thinking. Eewyn does that quite a bit, and normally I'm all for it. But I am sick and tired of her sitting there and not telling me why.

"I have a feeling," she murmurs.

"A feeling about what?" I sigh, plopping down next to her.

"I…don't know, exactly. That's what I'm trying to figure out. I just need to pin it down, then we can go," Eewyn says dreamily.

"So we're sitting her so you can oblige a feeling that you don't even know-"

"Yes," she interrupts. "I don't like making decisions, Evita. Especially snap decisions. Being hasty is more trouble than it's worth and I don't like it. I'd prefer not to do anything, for as long as possible."

"Jeeze!" I grumble, "_Why_?"

"Because…I just don't." She says, eyes closed. "Don't you ever suffer from indecision?"

"No. I'd rather get things done. Sitting around won't do that."

Eewyn smiles. "We're so different. We're a good pair."

"Dunno about that."

"Let's go." Eewyn says abruptly.

I blink. "Um, what?"

"Yeah. We need to move," Eewyn says, no longer with an absent, thoughtful look. Now she's slammed down her mental walls and her brow is furrowed. She seems anxious. Apparently her "feeling" is not a good one.

"How do you know exactly?" I say skeptically.

"I just think we need to get moving."

"Accomplishing…?" I trail off the word, telling her to fill in the blanks.

"Something. That's my feeling. We need to go accomplish something. Now move your butt."

Good old sarcastic Eewyn is back with a vengeance. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. As obnoxious as it gets, sarcastic is what she is.

"Get down!" She hisses, dropping to her knees below the line of the tall grass.

"Wha-" I begin, and she wraps a hand across my mouth and yanks me down next to her. I bite her finger and she pulls her hand back.

"Jeeze, Evita!" She hisses. "Weren't you ever house trained?"

I glare at her. "What's up, Eewyn? Why are you freaking out this time?"

"I finally got a good look at your face," she drawls. "No, actually, I heard something." Before I need to ask her what she means, I hear it too. It's a soft rumbling sound. Rumbles are bad. Rumbles mean a lot of power. Probably more power than I have to fight back with. I hate rumbles.

"What is that?" I hiss, drawing my knife.

"I don't know. Yet," she answers, brown eyes flicking across the horizon. We sit in suspense as the noise quickly grows louder. We zero in on it; it's coming from behind us. We turn to face it. As it crests the hill, it's a huge group of some sort of big animal. And they're charging us.

Nobody shouts, "Run!". It's unnecessary. It would take an idiot bigger than that Roe girl not to run from them. Well, maybe not bigger. But at least as stupid as Roe.

We don't run for too long until we see another figure, running from another herd. Straight at us. Eewyn and I try to change direction, but the herd picks up speed at the edges, forcing us to run forward. They're _herding_ us, I realize with horror. The animals are big, with four legs ending with hooves. Their tails are long, and overgrown crests of hair grow along their curved necks. Their faces are long, with big eyes set on either side of their heads. Their mouths hold shark-like teeth, which don't quite seem to fit in their mouths right, so I figure these must be mutts.

I swear. We're only a few seconds away from the other kid, a boy, and his herd. There's no escaping this.

But it turns out we don't need to.

The animals abruptly fan out, forming a perfectly even circle around the three of us. I look around in confusion. They aren't attacking us. They're just watching.

"What- what are those things? What's going on?" I splutter.

"What are they?" Eewyn echoes incredulously, "You don't know what horses are?"

"Unless it swims, chances are I don't know what it is. District 4, remember?" I snap.

"Well…they're horses. People ride on them a lot, or at least they used to. And they're not supposed to have teeth like those." She gulps.

I turn to the boy. "Who are you?" I growl.

"I-Indigo Resham. District 6." He says, eyes wide. He looks shocked. Good. It makes him more vulnerable.

"Eewyn Carre, District 2. And Evita Cormichael, District 4." Eewyn supplies, jerking her head toward me when she gives Indigo my name. There's silence for a moment. The "horses" watch us, blinking and swishing their tails. They're waiting for something, I can tell. What they're waiting for is the real question. Whatever it is, I can guarantee it's not going to have a pretty end.

"I bet the Gamemakers are controlling them." Eewyn says slowly. "I'm pretty sure horses don't usually do this. And Cyril Debrown said the Gamemakers are here to keep things from slowing down when the violence stops. So…they must want some violence." Her eyes slide to Indigo, and mine follow. He freezes.

"Can you handle it, Evita?" She asks calmly.

"Yeah," I growl, pulling out my knife, "I can handle it."

He looks pretty scared. He should be. This is why we're here: to fight and to die. Last time Eewyn stopped me, and the boy died just the same. This time she's told me to do the honors. It's not pleasant; it's not fun. But I am willing to do this if it means the Gamemakers let me live. If they require a death, I'm going to make sure it's anyone's but mine.

I flip my knife into my left hand. I've always been irrationally proud of the fact that I'm left-handed. I tend to blend in, just another teenage girl with an attitude problem and mild anger-management issues, so anything special I've always been proud of. I guess it's really not such a huge deal, but I love feeling like I'm some sort of curiosity. Maybe coming from a family with five other children, me third, has conditioned me to appreciate any type of attention. My parents were overworked and our house was overpopulated. It was always a fight between wanting to be noticed, and wanting to just be alone for one second of your life. But this is all off topic. All that matters right now is me, Indigo, and the knife in my hand.

I step forward slowly, the sun glinting off my knife. Indigo takes a step back. And another. And another. He takes one too many back, and one of the horses bumps his head into his back, pushing him back towards me. So that's their job. They wanted us to fight.

I lunge at him and he dodges. He's quick, but unarmed. He can only dodge for so long.

For a short few moments we do our little dance. He would have had better luck if we hadn't been locked in such close quarters by the horses. As it was, he couldn't have evaded me for more than fifteen seconds. And then I land my first cut. I slice open his shoulder. Grotesquely, he smiles. It's kind of scary. I slash across his chest and into his stomach. Blood spatters onto me, and onto him, but his smile is frozen on his face. I stab into his forehead, and his blood dribbles into his smiling mouth, diluting watery pink and red over his teeth. I stare at his corpse for a moment, entranced by the disgusting mix of death and the happy look on his face. I hardly notice the horses turn and leave, silently.

"Let's go," Eewyn says calmly. So we do.

**Roe Tamden, District 8**

Caspian like the spear a lot. He caught some sorta animal and I cried cause it cute. But it was yummy. Yeah.

I miss mom. She was pretty mad when I left so I hope she's okay now. She might be mad at Caspian to, 'cause he's a meanie but I'm not mad so um…I really like butter. Butter's yummy. Butter more yummy than the little animal, I think. Ever since I was a kid, I eat butter just oo it's own. I don't know why. Yeah. But it's good.

The stream is big. I like to swim, ever since I was a kid. I'm just one of those people likes to swim. So I go down to the river where it's muddy and jump in. I think Caspian he's calling me to come back up but I don't wanna so I keep swimming 'cause I don't need to breathe yet and yeah. Maybe Caspian don't know how to swim. I want to show him how to swim. So I go back up and tell Caspian to come swim because it's fun. Umm…

He learns how to swim real good and he's a good swimmer and he learns quick. So I show him how he swims under the top of the water 'cause that's more fun. I like the summer. It's quiet under the water.

I got a lot speedier than Caspian and it's fun. But then something it gets my ankle and I can't swim away and I scream and all I get is water. Umm…yeah. This is bad. Uh…

**Surviving Contestants:**

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Hary Lumer (Hawr-ee Loo-mur)

Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: Nolaf Killt (No-lof Kilt)

Eviu Navers (Ee-vee-you Na-vurs)

District 4: Mattrick Brint (Ma-trick Brihnt)

Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: Winona Sweet (Wih-no-nuh Sweet)

District 7: Kiteriin Fromet (Kit-er-een Fro-met)

District 8: Caspian Toushone (Cas-pee-in Too-shown)

Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)

District 9: none

District 10: Reno Serman (Ree-no Ser-mahn)

District 11: Dewq Deffen (Duke Def-in)

Berra Timsing (Bare-uh Tim-zing)

District 12: none


	9. Exploring

**A/N**- Sorry about the wait, guys. I'm spending almost all my time at my grandmother's lake house, and my internet connection is sporadic to say the least. I'll just post what I have written when I get a connection, but I don't know when it'll be. But though I may not be able to update for a while, I'm still here, and I'm still writing. Thanks for sticking with me.

**Chapter 8**

**Adrian Martinez, District 5**

"As strange as this is going to sound, I'm bored."

Baylyn slowly turns her head to look at me, eyebrows raised in a please-tell-me-you're-joking-Adrian sort of way. Sadly enough, I'm really not. Mom always used to tease me and say I had ADHD, but I'd always laughed it off. I'm starting to wonder if she'd actually been right.

"Well...what exactly are you planning to do about that?" Baylyn says slowly.

I shrug. "I don't know."

She looks at me, a funny expression on her face. "Then...why are you telling me this?"

"I was kind of hoping you'd have an idea," I chirp. Well, as much as any sixteen-year-old boy ever chirps anything.

"Why don't you...draw us a tick-tock-toes board." Baylyn suggests patiently.

"Nah. No one ever wins tick-tock-toes," I reply. "How about...I know! Let's go exploring."

Baylyn's eyebrows shoot up. "_Exploring_?"

"Yeah. It'll keep me entertained, and help us get a better feel of the arena," I point out, figuring that Baylyn wants some sort of practical reason beyond "Cause it's fun!".

"I _am_ still recovering from all those ribs you broke, Adrian."

"Fine, guilt trip me. Not fair at all," I complain.

"I'm serious. It hurts to do pretty much everything."

"We'll explore gently, I promise. Please?"

Baylyn regards me in silence for a moment. "Alright. Fine."

I grin. "Thanks, Baylyn."

"Yeah, yeah," She grumbles, pulling herself painfully to her feet. I help her up and hook her arm over my shoulder.

"I'm not _that_ much of an invalid, Adrian," Baylyn protests, but I have the feeling she's just being petty about exploring. I have the feeling that arguing about it is the wrong idea at the moment, so I just ignore it and start walking. We stagger for a minute until we get a feel for the rhythm of each other's walks. I put a lot more weight on my right leg, as I've got Baylyn on my left. She limps, but it's almost like she limps forward, always about to double over in pain at the waist. But our steps begin to synchronize and Baylyn winces less as she's no longer jolted or yanked by uneven steps.

The silence starts out a little miffed, but soon dissipates into its normal friendly comfort. Baylyn's enjoying herself, as I can see by the look in her eyes. She hasn't brought it up, not because she's too proud to say I had a good idea after all, but because she's wrapped up. When you walk through the arena, it stops being boring. The slow changes give a sense of peace. That's in short supply around here, I'm afraid.

"So, I've vented to you about my home life. Your turn," Baylyn says. I'm a little surprised. She's a pretty quiet girl, and usually isn't one to initiate conversation. But maybe she's just shy.

"It's really not very interesting. It's just me and my mom and dad."

"Do you have any siblings?"

"Oh. Yeah…my sister Lier. She ran off with her skeezy boyfriend more than a year ago. We haven't heard from her since." I mutter. I'd been hoping to avoid the subject of Lier.

"Well, that's pretty interesting," Baylyn says gently, trying to get me to open up more. I'm sure she knows I'm keeping secrets, but they're my secrets to keep. Besides, it's not like it's going to put her in danger or anything.

"Not really. That's really all there is to the story," I lie.

"Okay," Baylyn says. I can't tell if my good lie has eased her doubts or not. I have a feeling she hasn't really forgotten, that this will come up later. But for now I shove Lier to the back of my mind. Never helps to think about her. I just get angry.

"I wish I could whistle or something," I say to Baylyn. "It feels too quiet."

"I never did figure out how to whistle," Baylyn says. She sounds wistful, like she's never going to get another chance. I guess Baylyn's not so confident she's going to get home. I feel a little uneasy, because she may very well be right. Until her ribs heal, she's vulnerable.

"I'll teach you someday," I say.

"Okay," she replies with a smile.

Conversation disappears again as Baylyn and I retreat back into our own thoughts of whistling and missing sisters.

I'm hit by a sudden impulse. I turn sharply, almost before I think about it. Baylyn hisses in pain and surprise.

"What are you doing?" She says in the low tones we've adopted for speaking in the arena.

"We should go this way," I say apologetically.

"Fine, Adrian." Baylyn sighs.

Before long I see something else breaking into the horizon. The river. And by the sounds filtering to me from the banks, something big's going down.

**Caspian Toushone, District 8**

If this isn't just the best thing. Roe decides to teach me how to swim, being _useful_ for once, and now she's not coming back up.

"Roe? Hey Roe?" I call out tiredly, just in case I missed her climbing out onto a bank somewhere. Knowing her, she might have forgotten that disappearing after you swim away tends to freak people out. But there's no response, so I figure she's still under the water. I wade into the river until I'm in about knee height. This will be a problem. I just now learned how to swim, and I'm no expert. If Roe's in danger, I may not be able to help her, simply because I might not even be able to swim well enough to reach her. But I guess I need to try.

I step in up to my waist and begin paddling clumsily. I never thought I'd find something that Roe was better at than I, but it's happened. I don't like feeling inferior to her. Without me, I bet she would have just sat around on the first day and have been killed right on her platform.

I can't see her anywhere. I push my face under the water. Still nothing.

I paddle further downstream. How long has Roe been under now? Almost a minute, I'd say. I'm beginning to get a little panicked.

"Roe? Roe?" I shout. I've worked too hard to keep her alive. I am not going to give up this easily.

"Caspian?" Someone's voice calls, but it's not Roe. I look up, eyes sweeping the banks for a moment before I find two figures not too far away from me. I take in the tan skin and dark hair even before I register the face. Adrian Martinez. I remember seeing him around before the Games. He didn't say anything to me. As far as I could see he spent most of his time watching and thinking. Which is why I'm a little surprised he has a blond girl leaning against his side. But I was probably just too distracted keeping track of Roe to notice them together.

"You okay, Caspian?" He calls. I don't question how he knows my name or why he cares. Right now I just need to find Roe.

"I can't find my District partner. She went under more than a minute ago and hasn't come up."

Adrian hesitates, and then takes the girl's arm off his shoulder, sitting her down gently on the bank. An unreadable, but definitely not pleased, emotion falls across her face and she whispers something to him. He shakes his head, replies, and pulls his sleeve from her grasp. He slides carefully down the bank and skids to a stop next to me. "I'll get her."

Before I can respond, he dives in and zips past me. I struggle back to the edge of the bank and climb out, panting. The blond girl has slowly inched her way towards the bank, and can't be more than twenty feet or so from me anymore. She has a knife in her hands, and the nervous look in her eyes makes it clear that she'll use it if she has to.

"Caspian Toushone, District 8. And you are?" I ask.

There's a short silence before she answer, "Baylyn Homer. District 1. And he's Adrian-"

"Martinez. From 5? I remember him," I say, but then realize she might have thought I was implying that she wasn't worth remembering. Which I wasn't, really. But judging by the way she hasn't been able to stand up yet, her ally is the bigger threat.

She doesn't respond, but looks at me with a ponderous expression. Before the silence has time to become awkward, there's a thrashing sound, punctuated by a scream. Our heads snap up. Without even thinking about it, I wrap my arms under Baylyn's and pull her to her feet. She yelps, in surprise or something, I suppose, but begins hobbling toward the noise, nails dug into my arm. We crest the top of a twist in the river, and freeze.

All I can see are tentacles. At first, anyway. Huge tentacles probably three times the length of my body, and thicker than my leg. After a moment of being stunned and overwhelmed, I can make out Adrian as he's pulled under the water, and Roe as she's briefly lifted up by the arm wrapped around her shoulders. She screams again and it plunges her under. Baylyn yelps in horror and crawls to the edge of the bank. I try to pull her back, afraid that whatever-it-is will get her too, but she slashes at me and I step back. I don't understand what she's doing, but she's clearly determined to go through with it.

"C'mon, Adrian!" She murmurs desperately. For a moment the only sound is the churning of water as the free tentacles of the beast flail, but then a form is blasted from the water. Baylyn tenses, then grunts in frustrations when she sees it's just Roe, screaming something about forks before she disappears again. Just when I'm thinking he's a goner, Adrian's ripped from the river. Baylyn screams his name, and throws the knife. I shout in surprise, thinking it's going to hit him, but it plunges into the tentacle. I stare open-mouthed at her. That was incredibly dangerous. If the thing had moved even a bit she could have buried the knife in his chest or head or…but I guess she knew she had to get him a weapon or that thing would kill him anyway.

There's a terrible, ground-shaking shrieking noise, and Adrian is pulled back into the water. The thrashing stops and the water is no longer churning. We wait in suspense, hanging over the bank. Slowly, something red spreads through the water. I'm not naive enough to wonder what it is. It's definitely blood. I feel panic rising in my chest. Where are they? Why can't we see them? Then I see something pink slip out into the river. I yelp and pull Baylyn back, thinking it's another tentacle, but she pushes me away and kneels at the edge of the river. She whoops in triumph and I dash back next to her as Adrian pulls a very dazed Roe into view and pushes off the bottom. Their heads break the surface, gasping and panting. They struggle to the bank where Baylyn and I pull them up next to us.

They collapse and cough while Baylyn and I thump their backs in relief.

"Never, ever, throw a weapon at me again!" Adrian splutters. "That was scarier than the sea monster!"

Baylyn grins and thumps his back "It worked, didn't it?" She laughs. Adrian glares at her and she just smiles.

"Uh…I…" Roe says and bursts into tears. Then I remember I have a job to do. Joy.

We parted ways with Adrian and Baylyn about an hour after the sea monster incident. They're not interested in more allies, although I'd love to have someone to talk to who actually gave intelligent replies. But after today's adventures, I can put up with Roe for a while.

The anthem plays abruptly. There's only one face. One of the boys. From…District 6? I'm not sure. But I don't really care right now. I just want to sleep off today's excitement.

"Uh…Caspian?"

"Yes, Roe?" I sigh.

"Yeah. I mean, night. Huh."

"Night, Roe." 

_Day six._

**Surviving Contestants:**

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Hary Lumer (Hawr-ee Loo-mur)

Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: Nolaf Killt (No-lof Kilt)

Eviu Navers (Ee-vee-you Na-vurs)

District 4: Mattrick Brint (Ma-trick Brihnt)

Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: Winona Sweet (Wih-no-nuh Sweet)

District 7: Kiteriin Fromet (Kit-er-een Fro-met)

District 8: Caspian Toushone (Cas-pee-in Too-shown)

Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)

District 9: none

District 10: Reno Serman (Ree-no Ser-mahn)

District 11: Dewq Deffen (Duke Def-in)

Berra Timsing (Bare-uh Tim-zing)

District 12: none


	10. Robo

**Chapter 9**

**Mattrick Brint, District 4**

I can't tell if Berra really and truly hates me, or if she's just trying to avoid getting close to anyone, period. Either way, she's less than pleasant company. But I'm sure she'll get over it eventually. I mean, you can't just fight for your lives with someone over and over again and not develop some sort of bond with them, right? Well, it makes sense to me, anyway.

"Do you remember who all is gone so far?" Berra asked unhappily. I can tell she hates asking me anything, even something so simple but important as who's died so far. Or at least, she pretends to. But I'm terrible at telling when people are lying.

I frown. "Err, let's see." I begin, and start to rattle off some numbers that I think are right. "Male District 3, both from 12, girl from 10, boy from 7?" I say with a frown. It doesn't seem right, and Berra frowns.

"That's not enough, I don't think. There's supposed to be more. Like, two more maybe?"

I shrug. "Your guess is as good as mine. Probably better."

The awkward silence returns. Well, this'll be fun.

Berra scratches at her knee. We've stopped for a rest. Berra's always anxious when we're not moving. For some reason she's dead set on getting back to the spot where the tree got us. I don't know what's so important about that specific spot to her, but it's not like we have any reason _not _to go there, so I don't really argue about it. It's not worth fighting about.

"Can we go now?" She asks. I sigh before standing and brushing myself off. Berra strides off almost before I get to my feet and marches off so quickly I need to jog to catch up.

"Why are you in such a rush, anyway?" I complain.

"Why do you care, 4?" She asks, none too invitingly.

"I don't know. It just seems awfully important to you, so I figured it had to be something special."

"You'll see, if we're still allies when we get there,"

"Jeeze. Be a little more hostile, why don't you?" I grumble.

Berra snaps. "Look, 4. I didn't ask you to follow me around. Don't complain about my attitude when you're forcing yourself on me. If you really want to put me in a good mood, go jump off a cliff!"

Now I'm mad. Yes, I am following her around, but why is she so mad? Even before our alliance, back when the tree had a hold of us, she just couldn't wait for me to get my brains bashed out. I have no idea what this girl has against me, but whatever it is stops now.

"Look, Berra. I seriously don't know why you're so ticked off at me all the time."

She tries to interrupt, and I just talk over her.

"And don't try to tell me it's because I won't leave you alone, because I won't believe you. There's something else, and you're not telling me what it is, and until you do, I can't do anything to fix it. So if you want to get along at all, you better tell me why you're freaking out!"

Berra spins around so we're almost nose-to-nose. She's a couple of inches shorter than I am, but she's twice as mad so it just about evens out.

"Did you ever consider that I might not want to get along with you?" Berra snarls. "Maybe I don't want to be friends with you, Mr. 'Berra let's take another rest.' Mr. 'Why do we have to eat plants? I'm so spoiled that touching anything but fish is _sooooooooooo_ far below my dignity.' Mr. 'Berra, put your hand over your heart while the people who've locked us in here to kill us play their anthem'. Did you never think of that?"

"It's not like I'm the only one who needs to sleep, and you can't honestly be angry at me for not liking…whatever that nasty grass you picked was called. And why do you care about the anthem?" I snap.

Berra swears. "Really, Mattrick? Are you that stupid? Have you _still_ not figured out that the Capitol is evil? Because I just don't understand you. How can you be here, here of all places, and still not understand that they don't care about us? Don't have our best interests at heart? I don't know about you lucky jerks in District 4, but where I live we're slaves. If we don't do our work, they kill us. If we say anything against them, they kill us. If we want the opportunity for a life that's not all pain and suffering and starvation, they kill us! Don't you dare sit there and defend them and act like it's such a terrible thing for me to be angry, because you don't know how we suffer, and you never will!"

I stare at her, stunned, my mouth hanging open. Berra's quivering with anger, and I'm pretty sure that she spat all over my face. The knuckles of her fists are turning white with the strength of her grip. But what scares me is her eyes. As annoying as she's told me (and told me and told me) that she thinks I am, I don't believe she's ever really hated me. But now the look in her eyes is unmistakable, even to me, as pure loathing.

"I'm not going to change my mind. I'm not going to apologize. And as long as you love them even while they try to kill us, as the abuse my family and friends, as they dehumanize and murder every person in Panem, you will not, ever, be my friend." She spits into my face with more venom than I ever imagined a fourteen-year-old girl could manage. She turns on her heel and marches away, clearly not caring if I stay here forever until I get stabbed through by some poor kid.

I stand there long after Berra's gone out of view. I know where she's headed. The tree left an all-too-easy-to-follow trail back to Berra's special spot. The question is, do I really want to follow her?

**Eviu Navers, District 3**

I'm really shocked that I survived this long. I haven't done anything to really make that happen. I mean, I've been eating and drinking, sure, but I didn't take anything from the cornu-whatsit on the first day. I haven't been hiding from anyone. I've just sort of been sitting around. Apathy. This is possibly the worst place in the world for it.

Not that it's really done me much damage. I've already outlived one third of the competition. I haven't been keeping track of names, but I have been watching the numbers. I can't say that that number (or rather, that fraction) really matters at all to me. If I get out, then that's wonderful. If not…well, it really doesn't matter much. I'm sure my family would disagree, and my friends, and my boyfriend. But honestly, I just don't feel anything for them anymore. Of course, I don't feel much of anything period at the moment. The Hunger Games have broken something inside me. As soon as I heard my name called, the part of me that cares just shut down. Maybe I shouldn't win. I would kind of be a worthless life to save, at this point.

Sorry, Mom, but it's the truth.

I fold my hands behind my head. I guess if someone attacks me, I'll let him or her finish me. Provided they make it fast. I wonder how many different ways I could die. Nobody here knows how to use anything special. Maybe the District 9 kids, since they're from the hunting District, but both Wilk and Mikki are dead now. I scoped them out at the beginning, but they didn't seem dangerous. Who knows, maybe they just worked cleaning pelts or packaging meat or something. But anyway, I'm pretty sure that the sixteen of us still alive together can use a depressingly small range of weapons. My guess is that we can use knives (pretty much a no brainer of a weapon), clubs (again, not much skill required to beat someone's brains out), and maybe a bow and arrow. _Maybe_.

As I'm wondering about the different ways someone could kill me, someone does.

**Wesley Sawr, District 1**

Three. That's how many I've killed now. One third of the dead are my doing. It feels good. I feel invincible. I don't care if people think I'm a monster (here's lookin' at you, Mom. I know you can't believe what I'm doing. Well, I got news for you: It's the Hunger Games. Get over it), I just want to live. I guess that's really my biggest fear, the fear of death. While you're alive you can always work your way back up, but dead? Much too final for my liking. And I put myself first.

I check the corpse of the girl. District 3? Doesn't matter. She's never going back. I curse. Another one without anything on them at all. I swear. I must be jinxed or something. I push the body away and wipe my knife off. I'm getting more than a little hungry, which reminds me that "invincible" is kind of a subjective term.

Some sort of little animal darts across my path. It's an adorable, fluffy, tiny rodent, and normally I'd think it was the funniest little thing, but this is the Hunger Games and I'm pretty sure whatever that is could kill me. So I have to admit, I shout a little bit in surprise. Well, it was kind of a scream. A man scream.

The little thing skitters to a stop in front of me, and I point my knife at it, telling it to shoo. It just cocks its head in a twitchy little rodent way and looks at me. Its eyes are _red_. And not just red, but they glow a little bit too. This thing is seriously not normal. I'm trying to figure out if this could be some sort of muttation when it hits me. Not a mutt, a robot.

RoboRat tilts its head and skitters forward through the grass, chattering madly. I breathe a sigh of relief, but it runs right back up to me. I yelp and slash the knife at it, but it's already running away from me again. As soon as it's out of sight it pokes its head back through the grass and chatters. It keeps running up to me, and then away, and then back. My mind works, trying to figure out why RoboMouse is acting like this. I begin to get the feeling that it wants me to _follow_ it.

I take a step after it, slowly, and it dashes off. I gather speed as I follow it through the grasses, beginning to trust my guide more and more. All of a sudden, RoboMole stops. I almost run over it before I can stop. It chatters at me and runs over to something sticking out of the ground. It digs at the base of some leaves, but poor RoboShrew doesn't make much progress with his little claws. I kneel and he jumps away. I pull up the…thing, dunno what it is, and lay it down. I step back and RoboSquirrel runs up to it. It starts gnawing on it, which confuses me. I've seen plenty of robotics in my job packaging luxury items for the Capitol, and this definitely looks like super-refined robot. Which means it doesn't need to eat. I think hard. So far everything RoboGerbil has done had been to give me a message. So…if RoboChimunk can't eat is, does that mean I can?

I tentatively pick up the thingee and spit on it, then rub the dirt off on my shirt. Once it looks pretty clean, on one side anyway, I take a bite. It's not great, but it seems edible, and judging by the stalks poking up out of the ground around me, there's lots of it.

I look down where RoboFerret watches me with his glowing red eyes. Obviously he's being controlled by a Gamemaker somewhere. But why did they help me? Don't they want us all to die? Starvation works just as well.

But then again, they don't want us to starve; they want us to kill each other. And I think back to those statistics. One third of the dead kids are at my hands. I think the Gamemakers are cutting me a deal. This food, and maybe whatever else I need, in exchange for me to kill. I grin. No problem.

"It'll be a pleasure working with you," I say with a smile. I hold my hand out to RoboHamster, and he looks at it for a moment, his little head twitching back and forth. The he bounds forward, and his little clawed paw closes around my right pointer finger. I smile.

**Dewq Deffen, District 11**

I consider calling Berra's attention to my hiding spot, but decide against it. She doesn't look happy at all, and the pressure of having her life constantly threatened may have made her snap. It'd be a shame if that were the case. She seemed like a really sweet girl, but fear does really terrible things to people.

She's passing just below the crest of my hill as the anthem comes on. Her knees buckle on her and she sits in a sloppy crossed-legged position. We watch the sky together. Well, not really together, since she doesn't know I'm even here and all that, but we watch as the District 3 girl's face glows and fades away. Before the anthem is even over, Berra and I turn at the snap of a stick. Someone shuffles into view. It's one of the boys. Maybe from District 4? I think I remember him. The Capitol lover. He lifts his head, and I can see that it's definitely him. Berra tenses and snaps something I can't hear.

I'm not sure how I feel about him. Someone who's lived a soft enough life to think the Capitol is wonderful isn't going to last very long, so I feel like I shouldn't hate him while he's alive. But still, to love the Capitol…I shake my head.

The anthem's over now, with only the one girl's face. Although Berra and the District 4 boy are only a little more than ten feet from me, their voices are so low that I can barely make out anything more than the occasional hiss of an S. Here's a survival tip: The letter S is by far the easiest to hear, because the hiss travels. So if you must speak in a situation like this, do so with a lisp.

But anyway, I can't understand what they're saying. I don't know what they're talking about, but whatever it is sure is important to them. You can tell in the tenseness of Berra's back and the earnest look on District 4's face. She shakes her head and he makes some sort of pleading motion. Berra responds with a louder whisper, speaking so that I can catch a few snippets of her whispers.

"Don't…I…want…follow…matter," she says. Well, more or less. I'm guessing those weren't her exact words. But they were some of them.

He grabs her upper arm and she tries to pull away, but he grips onto her shoulder and makes her look him in the eye. He says something, and Berra interrupts. He shakes her briefly, frustrated and she stamps on his foot. He swears, more than loudly enough for me to hear this time, before he spits out a few more sentences and is silent.

They stare at each other for a long moment, before I see Berra soften just a little bit as her thin shoulders slump. She says something so quietly that I wouldn't have known that she said anything at all if it hadn't been for the movement of her lips. He replies and they say nothing until Berra turns in the direction of the open plains. They walk off slowly, together.

I guess fear can do good things to people too. It can bring them together.

But as for right now, I'm not scared. Just tired. So I close my eyes and let sleep come. It's been another long day.

_Day seven._

**Surviving Contestants:**

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Hary Lumer (Hawr-ee Loo-mur)

Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: Nolaf Killt (No-lof Kilt)

District 4: Mattrick Brint (Ma-trick Brihnt)

Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: Winona Sweet (Wih-no-nuh Sweet)

District 7: Kiteriin Fromet (Kit-er-een Fro-met)

District 8: Caspian Toushone (Cas-pee-in Too-shown)

Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)

District 9: none

District 10: Reno Serman (Ree-no Ser-mahn)

District 11: Dewq Deffen (Duke Def-in)

Berra Timsing (Bare-uh Tim-zing)

District 12: none


	11. Problems

**A/N**- If you don't remember, Qwinne is Reno's sister. Also, a thank you to ForeverAdrian for betaing for me while my regular beta's away at camp!

**Chapter 10**

**Reno Serman, District 10**

Well, I'm doing pretty well so far, Qwinne. Fifteen of us now. It's still a lot, when you think of it. Actually, it almost feels like more than twenty-four. I guess it's because now people, lots of people, have died, and the odds are still against me. Or as the president said last year, not, "in my favor". But then again, wishing anybody in the Hunger Games luck is already too little too late. The odds have been against them already, when they were drawn. But I appreciate the sentiment, I guess. Not that she means it. Not that anybody but my family and friends want me back. There's no compassion for the strangers here. It's every man for himself and his loved ones.

_The following segment has been removed from public record. Clearance level eight required. To access this selection, please click __**here**__ and enter your passcode. I apologize for the inconvenience._

You need to tell mom not to give up, too. She was never with us when we whispered out dreams of a better life to each other. She's given up, I'm pretty sure. Mom has accepted the rule of the Capitol. Maybe that's safer, but it's not going to fix anything.

I sigh. It's out of my hands now, I think. Even if I survive and become famous and rich and respected, what am I supposed to do? All eyes will be on me. Well, Wrianin Abro and me. But I won't be able to organize any rebellions any time soon. Heck, I won't be able to fart at the dinner table without some tabloid making a huge deal about my table manners. Can you believe it? They really do make a fuss about stuff like that. They have time to gossip and be frivolous. Time and money. Two things that you can never have at the same time in the Districts, or at least in 10. You either work all day to support yourself, or go hungry for an extra hour with your family. But these people have everything they want. I don't understand it. Really, why can't we just spread that wealth around? If I win, I will. No child in District 10 will go hungry as long as I've got money in my pocket.

But that's an "if". There's still that number. Fifteen. Fourteen of which have to die. My head swims. I'm not so good with numbers. But then again, you already know that. You heard only too many fights between mom and me about my math grades. But it's really okay. My biology was pretty good, and I probably could still have gotten a job as a vet. But now I won't. One way or the other.

Could you imagine what it would be like to be so rich, Qwinne? Grewwen would pay attention to you then, I'm sure. But we'd just turn our noses up at him, because he's never deserved you. Or any other poor girl in District 10. And yes, I know he's "_soooooooo _handsome", but beyond that, what value does he have as a person, as a husband? Not much as far as I can see. I'm sure you'll get over him. It's just sort of a question of outgrowing little crushes. Though I'm sure you'd object to the term "little crush". But that's really all it is. All most kids our age are capable of. We're just not mature enough to really have that level of commitment, really.

Maturity is one thing the Hunger Games will give you. When you always have to fight for your life at the expense of others, it's a little hard to retain that wide-eyed innocence. And there's really no point in trying. Maybe it'd be fun to pretend, like a little vacation, but it won't solve anything.

Try to find some solutions back home. For you, for mom, for getting over Grewwen. You can't run from problems, because they're faster than you are. You have to go out and fix them. Do it for me.

**Mattrick Brint, District 4**

Despite Berra and my little heart-to-heart yesterday, nothing has changed. I thought I was really getting through to her. She seemed like she was really listening, really understanding for once. But now she's ignoring me when she isn't insulting me, just like she always has. I'm still holding on to the hope that maybe, just maybe, she'll someday get over the fact that I support our government, even now.

I do, don't I?

I push the thought out of my head. I've been raised to trust the Capitol. Throwing that into question does the same to pretty much my entire upbringing. I've never questioned them before. I'm not about to start now.

We've reached where Berra wanted us to go. As far as I can tell, she's crazy. I don't see anything about this tree that would make it so important to her. With our experience with arena trees, you'd expect her to stay _away _from them, not seek them out. But whatever. If that's what's going to make her happy, then we'll hang out in the tree. As long as she keeps us fed, I can put up with a weird quirk or two.

She's even more twitchy than usual since we got here, though. It doesn't seem like getting here has made her feel any better. I don't see what her problem is. Probably she's keeping a secret from me, about what I have no idea. But I'm not going to ask. As much as she insists she hates me, I don't think she's planning to stab me in my sleep. I hope she's not. But she seems like an honest girl, so betraying me would be pretty out of character for her. I'm really not too worried.

Berra rubs the tree trunk anxiously. I don't know what she's so worked up about. Honestly, sitting around in a tree doing nothing doesn't seem so bad to me. Actually, it's kind of boring. But it's peaceful, which is good. I almost tease her about being hyperactive, but then decide not to. Knowing Berra she'll find some way to turn that into a deadly insult. I don't feel like dealing with that at the moment. Or, you know, at all.

I wish Berra didn't hate me so much. I saw her talking to some of the other girls, and with her District partner, back in the holding building before the Games. She seemed nice, and smart, and brave. And I can still see that person when her mouth is shut and she's not glaring at me. I'm a pretty good judge of character, and I'd like her if she didn't hate me. But she does.

I watch her out of the corner of my eye. If I look at her normally she'll make some nasty remark. She'll snap at me if I look at her, trip, say anything, sneeze, snore, or basically do anything at all to remind her that I'm still around. I try to be as quiet as possible, but she always finds something to be mad about. I'm pretty sure she _looks _for things to be mad about. If she didn't find anything, I wouldn't put it past her to make something up. But the silence is killing me, so I decide to strike up a conversation, whether she likes it or not. Probably not.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" I ask abruptly.

She looks at me with disgust. "Why do you care?"

"Because I'm bored," I answer honestly.

"Well, excuse me for not being entertaining enough!" She growls. I sigh.

"Look, Berra. It's just a question. Can't you just answer like a normal human being? I swear, why do you need to make everything into a fight?" I say wearily.

"I have an older brother," she says shortly.

I wait for her to ask me but, unsurprisingly, she says nothing.

"It's considered polite to ask me too," I point out.

"Fine."

"Well?"

"You really are annoying."

"_Well_?"

"Fine! Do you have any stupid brothers or sisters?"

"Nope."

"Then why did you make me ask you?"

"For the sake of conversation," I say.

She groans in exasperation but I interrupt her by asking, "What is your brother like?"

"He'd hate you," she begins, and I have to hold back a sigh, "But he loves me. He's too old for the reaping now. I know he'd protect me if he could, but there's nothing he can do against the Capitol. He was crying when he came to see me after I got reaped. I'd never seen him cry before.

"He's engaged now. His fiancée's name is Omi. She's really sweet; she's almost like a sister to me. I don't usually like my brother's girlfriends, but she's wonderful. I'm glad they're getting married."

"How long have they been engaged?" I ask, glad that I seem to have eased her into a topic that she cares enough about to discuss with me.

"Since last month. They've been dating for about a year and a half. For Herbert, that's my brother's name, that's a really long time. That's how I know he's serious. He's cheated on his girlfriends before," her face darkens, "They were almost all nasty people though, so I never felt too bad for them. But he'll never hurt Omi. You can just tell when he looks at her. I'm really glad. She doesn't deserve to be hurt."

"She sounds really nice," I say.

"She is. All of my family is," Berra says, and the falls silent. I smile. She doesn't ask me anything about my family, but I don't really mind. That's the most civil conversation we've had in…ever.

I sneeze.

"Shh! You want to get us killed? Shut up!"

I sigh. The nicest conversation we've had in a long time, and might for quite some time. I glance at her briefly.

"What?"

Yup. Looks like it.

**Hary Lumer, District 2**

Three trades so far. One with the boy from 5 and the girl from 1, one with the girl from 6 (who followed me around for a while after that. She doesn't seem to understand that a "business transaction" doesn't mean you're friends. But she seemed really nice. It's too bad), and one with that guy from 3. I must admit, I feel bad that he died the same day I treated him. I hope it wasn't my fault. But maybe that would be a good strategy: Pretend to heal them and really kill them quietly. I tuck that thought away. Could come in handy.

I shuffle through my pack. I feel like a real doctor with my bag full of medicine. I smile. It's nice that I got to be a doctor, even with the Hunger Games. I would have gotten into college for sure. Top 7% in my class, more than high enough than the 50% you needed to go on to another level of higher education. I probably would have gotten a really top-level job, although I might not have gotten to actually become a doctor in the Capitol. My fingers twitch with just the idea of that most coveted job. Even with short shifts in the Capitol, seldom more than three months at a time, really good doctors could make a killing. Or even better, a living. I think that may be the real reason us in District 2 are so happy to let things go the way they have been. We get breaks like none of the other Districts. We're grateful, like anyone would be. Sorry if you can't relate with that.

I took almost everything I could from the cornucopia. Medical supplies were at the top of my priority list, because I knew I could get the most use out of them of anyone here. I highly doubt that Eewyn's above 8%, and nobody else here could possibly know as much about medicine as kids from the medicine District. That'd just be ridiculous.

Everything looks to be in order. When I've got nothing else to do I shuffle through my pack, memorizing the shiny Capitol labels and the long list of active chemicals. I'm surprised to see how many I don't recognize. But I know what the medicines do, and the unknown ingredients don't bother me. I love a good mystery, and it'll give me something to wonder about between cases. Maybe if I compare the different labels and the purposes of the medicines I can even figure out what exactly the chemicals are supposed to do. Perfect. I have a little game to keep me busy.

I rub my hands together and begin to dig around in the bag. I pull out a small bottle of pills for fever. I dive into the long list of letters and measurements, comparing them to the others in the bag. Just when I feel a breakthrough coming on, the anthem interrupts me. No faces today, but the tune makes it too hard to concentrate. Oh well. It's for the better. It got dark so slowly that I didn't realize how much I'd been straining my eyes to read the label.

I replace the medicines carefully, maneuvering through my bag by feel. I'll have to leave the mysteries of my medicine bag un-cracked for the day. Oh well. That just means there are more of them for tomorrow.

_Day eight._

**Winona Sweet, District 6**

I really hope he doesn't hurt me. He has Roe with him, so he must be a good person to be taking care of her like that. I think we're actually a lot alike, although I'm smarter by at least…a lot, really. Roe's nice, but it's not very hard to be smarter than her. But we're both nice and kind and maybe he'll like me too.

He's a lot stronger than me, which is about as hard to do as being smarter than Roe, and I know that if I fight with him I'll lose. So my only hope is that he'll be my friend, or that I can outrun him if he won't. I hope he'll be my friend, though. I don't want to be lonely. I tried to make friends with the District 2 boy, but he just fixed my scrape and went away. I wish he would have stayed, because he seemed really nice. I saw a couple of other people too, but they all ran before I could tell whom they were. They must be lonely too, so I don't know why they wouldn't talk to me. They weren't scared of me, were they? I wouldn't hurt anybody.

"Who are you?" He growls. I whimper, and his hands twitch a little, warning me that I better answer him or else.

"W-Winona Sweet," I whisper.

"From?" He asks, still looking at me in that scary way.

"District 6," I choke back.

His eyes look different for a moment, kind of like he's thinking about something far away from here. Probably just about Wrianin Abro. He's the only person from District 6 that he would probably know. But now he's angry with me again. We stand here like this, me shivering because I'm afraid he's going to hurt me, him crossing his arms and looking at me, and Roe asking some loud questions in the background that we don't really pay attention to.

After a moment, Caspian's body goes a little looser. His eyes don't look so angry anymore. But I'm still scared, because it's not in a forgiving kind of way. He looks like he's about to do something he really doesn't want to do.

"Winona…" He begins, and stops. He chews his lip for a second and Roe grabs his arm, saying something about rabbits and me.

"Roe, shut up!" He snaps.

"Uh…" She says, and looks at him with her chin tucked almost down to her chest and one finger out like she's going to point at something. She looks funny. I've never seen somebody stand like that before.

But before I can laugh Caspian spins around and smashes something into the side of my head. As I fall down I can see that his face is screwed up; he doesn't want to do it. But he's going to anyway. Why?

The rock smashes into my head again, and I see Caspian stumble away and throw up just before my eyes go red and then black.

Maybe Wrianin Abro was right. You can't have friends in the Hunger Games.

**Evita Cormichael, District 4**

"Her name's Winona Sweet," Eewyn says, looking up at the brunette girl's face in the sky.

I nod. "I know that."

I remember Winona. Her last name was pretty apt. She was the sort of person who just wanted everyone to like her. The type who'd never kill. Pretty much the opposite of me. She was one of the people here I would have really felt bad about killing, so I'm torn between gladness I didn't have to hurt her, and feeling angry that someone else did.

We're silent. Usually Eewyn and I entertain ourselves by trading sarcastic remarks, but not now. Never during the anthem. Even we, though we're playing by the rules and killing to save ourselves, will never mock the dead in the sky. You'd have to be true scum to do that.

"How many now, Eewyn?" I ask. She knows what I mean.

"Fourteen. Ten dead," she answers. I nod and we sit for another moment, in a pause halfway between awkward and thoughtful.

"Well, goodnight, Evita." Eewyn says and flops over onto her side. It's always a little funny to watch us get ready for bed, since we just flop over and that's that.

"Night," I mutter, and roll over so that we're facing opposite directions. Maybe a night watch would be better, but I'm too tired tonight. I think Eewyn is too.

Good night.

_Day nine._

**Surviving Contestants:**

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Hary Lumer (Hawr-ee Loo-mur)

Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: Nolaf Killt (No-lof Kilt)

District 4: Mattrick Brint (Ma-trick Brihnt)

Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: None

District 7: Kiteriin Fromet (Kit-er-een Fro-met)

District 8: Caspian Toushone (Cas-pee-in Too-shown)

Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)

District 9: None

District 10: Reno Serman (Ree-no Ser-mahn)

District 11: Dewq Deffen (Duke Def-in)

Berra Timsing (Bare-uh Tim-zing)

District 12: None


	12. The Split

**Chapter 11**

**Berra Timsing, District 11**

I'm determined not to get along with Mattrick. It doesn't matter how sincere or nice he acts, the bare truth of it is that he's a Capitol lover and it's people like him who enable things like the Hunger Games.

Right?

I'm so confused. The Capitol is evil; that I know for sure. I mean, look at where I am! So doesn't that mean he's evil by association? And honestly, how can being entered into the ironically dubbed "Hunger Games" not have changed his mind. This is no game, but Mattrick still acts like it is. But he's hard to hate, as much as I try. He's a nice guy. But…he's a Capitol lover. My mind runs in these circles. Do I judge him for his personality or his beliefs? They're both important parts of him. Both are pretty much valid grounds to like or dislike someone, as far as I'm concerned. But they lead me to such different conclusion. I'm so confused that I'm giving myself a headache.

"What's wrong?" He pipes up sweetly. Ugh.

"Shut up," I grumble, and rub my temples tiredly. If it was anyone else in the arena I'd vent and moan and relieve some of this stress, but not to Mattrick. First of all, he's the one_ causing_ the stress in the first place, and second…well, I'm determined not to get along with him. Just like I said earlier. There goes my mind running in circles then. But anyway, I'm holding on to my annoyance stubbornly. It's satisfying, like how when you're really mad you don't want to fix it, you just want to be mad. Well, I don't want to make a mature decision about this; I want to hate him.

Don't I?

Argh! I give up.

I pick at the bark of my tree. I haven't let Mattrick see the names I etched into it; it feels too private. I guess that's a funny thing to say about something being broadcast on national television, but this is not something I'm willing to share with Mattrick Brint. This, at least, is mine. I have a right to this little secret.

But what if I've got it wrong? That fear eats into my stomach. I can't have it wrong. I'd be failing them. The dead, that is. I've made a commitment to remember them and I need to fulfill that commitment. And not just for them either. It gives me a purpose. I wonder what they'd say if they saw it? It's not enough, I know, but there's no way I can do better, I'm afraid. Would they appreciate that I'm remembering them, or would they want their memory left in peace? I'd want to be remembered, I'm sure.

"You sure you're okay?" Mattrick checks again. I roll my eyes. Now he's just being annoying.

"Look, if I didn't tell you the first time, why on earth do you think you'll get a different answer by bugging me?"

"I'm kind of hoping that if I keep asking you I'll get annoying enough that you'll tell me just to get me to shut up, actually." He confesses.

Oh. So he _wants _to be annoying. Well, I just won't give him the satisfaction, then.

"Well, good luck with that," I snap haughtily, even turning my nose up for effect.

"Okay. So…you feeling alright?"

This could get annoying.

**Roe Tamden, District 8**

I can't believe Caspian killed her she was nice she was scared too and I'm mad at him and I'm sad. I been crying ever since yesterday. Yeah. I'm sad. I didn't want him to kill her but he-

"Shut_ up_, Roe! This is for you, okay? I'm trying to protect you, but you need to shut up or someone's going to kill us. Stop crying!" He shouts. I think he's being a stupid meanie and plus he's bein' even louder than me.

"I didn't want you to kill her! I'm sad," I shout back.

"It's either us or them, Roe! Get it into your thick head that this isn't a play date. This isn't some little field trip. We could die, Roe, and one of us will still have to. Please, stop being so stupid! It's us or them, Roe. Do you want to survive or do you want them to survive? Because you can't have both."

"I'm not stupid, meanie!" I shout at him. He roll his eyes and groan. I feel me begin to cry. An' I hate him. Right now I hate Caspian.

I turn and run off somewhere. He try to chase me. He catches me and I hit him on the face and run away again. I hear his voice getting' quiet but I don't wanna stop. I want him to go away. Yeah.

Me I run for a real long time before my lungs start to say noooooooo and I needa lie down before I die. I bet I'm gonna die 'cause I can't breath 'cause I was runnin' for so long. I giggle 'cause that cloud look funny then I cry more 'cause I didn't want him to kill her.

I don't know why he have to kill her. She was nice. She was nice to me back before we came out here and she was nicer than anybody and a lot nicer than that meanie poopy-head.

Poopy. Hah.

This place isn't nice. I'm hungry and tired all times. I wanna go home to mom and my kitty because I don't like it here. Can you get me home please? Mom said to always says please 'cause that manners. Good manners too and Mom always taught me to do good manners and bad manners except I'm not supposed to do bad manners. Yeah.

I bet Caspian not sad that I ran away from him 'cause he's a meanie poopy-head. Why does he make me stay with him anyway if he don't like me? Meanie.

**Baylyn Homer, District 1**

I can't help loving gossip. I'm a girl. It's in our genes. The social parts of our brains are literally larger than guys'. We really can't help being so chatty. Well, I must admit I'm not "chatty" by any definition, but I can't help my curiosity. And ever since Adrian avoided my question about his sister I've been dying to find out what it is he's hiding. I don't really want to just ask though, because it's obviously not something he likes talking about. I'll try to ease him into the subject gently. But how do you "gently" approach something like that? I'm not that good with people. I'll have to handle this very carefully.

"How you feeling?" I start off generically.

He shrugs, not really too invested in the conversation.

"I'm fine. The bruises are already looking smaller," he says. I grimace. That whatever-it-was left some nasty bruises all over his ribs and stomach. We're lucky bruises were all it left. But it was really just playing with its food until I threw the knife into it. Then it got mad. Adrian said he's really not sure that he killed it either, so we won't be going swimming anytime soon. Or ever, for as long as we're in this arena.

"I'm glad you're feeling okay. Well, better. Can you imagine how freaked out our families were when that thing attacked us?" I say casually.

Adrian looks at me from the corner of his eye. I'm pretty sure he knows exactly where I'm going with this.

"Why do you care?" He asks suspiciously.

"Oh. No reason," I answer with an innocent blink in his direction before staring off at the horizon again.

We're silent. I try to think of any other way to bring up the topic of Adrian's family, but with no luck.

"It's my birthday this week," he says suddenly.

I look at him briefly. "Oh, really?

"Yup. Exactly four days from today," he says.

"Well, assuming we're both alive in eight days I'll wish you happy birthday," I joke. He chuckles a little and we're quiet again.

"Do you think your family will celebrate your birthday without you?" I ask.

Adrian sighs. "Look, Baylyn, why don't you just come out and ask me about Lier?"

I blush. Oops. So maybe I'm not very subtle after all.

"Sorry. So…what happened?" I say quietly.

"Lier and I used to be really close," he begins, looking off at the horizon rather than at me. "Up until about a year ago. Then she all of a sudden started dating some jerk. I was really worried about her. I thought he was hitting her, and when I asked her about it she clammed up. She started being home less and less. One day she disappeared and didn't come back for an entire week. We got into a big fight about it, and it went downhill from there. We fought all the time, and our parents started taking sides too. Mom was on Lier's side, that if she was in love it was her business. But dad was worried about her too. Then they started fighting too. It…wasn't good. Three months ago, Lier left for good. None of us have seen her since. She didn't even come to say goodbye after the reaping."

I look up in surprise.

"I hope she's okay," he mutters.

"Do you blame yourself or something, Adrian? It's not your fault."

"I know," Adrian says. "I was trying to protect her. It's not that. I feel…guilty, I guess. I haven't forgiven her. She asked me to, a while back, but I couldn't. I guess I should, but when she didn't come to say goodbye…"

He swallows hard. I can see tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. I don't know what to say. Even my brothers came to say goodbye to me. Since she didn't show up, she either really does hate him now, or she couldn't. Maybe her boyfriend wouldn't let her, or her hurt her or did something even worse.

There's really nothing for me to say. No matter how many times I say, "I'm sorry" it's not going to change anything. I put an arm around his shoulders and he smiles a little bit, but it's not a happy smile. I wouldn't really expect it to be.

"How old are you going to be?" I ask eventually.

"Seventeen," he answers.

"Ha! I'm seventeen already, shrimp!" I tease.

Adrian shoves me, but he's smiling now.

"Ow!" I complain, rubbing my side.

"Oops, sorry." He says with a grimace.

"Nah. It's okay," I dismiss.

He puts his arm over my shoulder and we lapse into silence again. But this is a better silence. It's a thoughtful silence. I put my head on his shoulder and we just think.

**Caspian Toushone, District 8**

She ran away from me. From _me_. After everything I've done to keep that idiot alive, she ran away. Roe Tamden. I'm sorry. I think I'm in shock.

Without me, she's going to die. How in the world could she not see that? Everything I've done in the arena has been to protect her, something I didn't need to do. Something no one ever expected me to do. But I bet if I try to stop now I'll be lynched if I actually manage to win.

But it's not my fault. Everyone in Panem just saw how she turned and ran away. Everyone in Panem saw me chase after her. What else am I supposed to do? Keep following after her until I catch her and tie her up or something? There's no way to force an unwilling alliance, I'm pretty sure. Or at least not when you hate the other person's guts.

I shake my head in amazement. Gone. She, of her own free will, is gone.

I understand why she was upset about Winona. She's a good person. She didn't want me to do it. Heck, I didn't want to do it. I hate what I had to do. But it's not my fault I'm here. I'm doing what I have to survive and protect Roe and I'm going to keep doing it until I either win or die. And I must admit that if it comes down to the two of us, I'm going to put myself first. But I've done more for Roe than any person in the arena, and possibly her life. I don't owe her_anything_. And Roe owes me more than she will ever be able to pay back. But isn't the true nature of generosity supposed to be giving without expecting anything back? I'm nothing if not generous. But for Roe its one strike and she's gone.

I don't know whether or not to be happy. On the one hand, she's _gone _and I'm _free_, but on the other hand…

Jeez. I still feel like I need to protect her. This is ridiculous. If I had a tree handy I'd bang my head on it a few million times. I give up. I hang my head in defeat and slowly follow the trail Roe left through the grass. It's becoming harder to track people now, as old trail begin to criss-cross old ones. I don't know who left them; it could have even been Roe and me. The whole arena looks the same; except for the hills I'm sure are a death trap and the river that cuts through the whole thing. Neither is safe, as we've learned. Well, really just guessing about the hills. But the river is incredibly dangerous.

I wish I wasn't such a good person. Even though Roe has made it crystal clear that she wants no more to do with our alliance, I'm chasing her across the plains. I hate her, hate every word that comes out of her mouth. But without me she'll die.

Someone just kill me now.

**Surviving Contestants:**

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Hary Lumer (Hawr-ee Loo-mur)

Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: Nolaf Killt (No-lof Kilt)

District 4: Mattrick Brint (Ma-trick Brihnt)

Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: None

District 7: Kiteriin Fromet (Kit-er-een Fro-met)

District 8: Caspian Toushone (Cas-pee-in Too-shown)

Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)

District 9: None

District 10: Reno Serman (Ree-no Ser-mahn)

District 11: Dewq Deffen (Duke Def-in)

Berra Timsing (Bare-uh Tim-zing)

District 12: None


	13. To Watch a Murder

**Chapter 12**

**Dewq Deffen, District 11**

Maybe I should help. I can see the boy from District 1, the angry one, from the crest of my hill. I can barely lie flat enough here to stay below the level of the grass. And the other boy, the younger one, is in a ton of trouble. I know District 1 can see him. He's tracking him, like those wolves from last year, the subtle muttations that it took the entire large alliance to destroy. If he's half as dangerous as those wolves, he'll make this a kill to remember. I shudder. I had nightmares for weeks after the wolves ripped apart that eighteen-year-old with the graying hair. It was bad. Really bad.

I try to stretch my neck even further without exposing myself. I don't really want to watch this, but I feel grimly determined that this struggle is mine to witness to. Like this entire Game is something I'm disconnected from.

All I do is watch. I watch this boy; Remote or something, I'm not really sure; is stalked by Wesley Sawr. I don't stop to help this boy, who looks like he's only fourteen or fifteen. It's not even for fear of being hurt in the process; I feel like I have no place interfering here. It's a tragedy, but it's not up to me to decide whether or not it is necessary.

I watched the stupid girl from 8 run past the base of my hill. I wondered what happened to Caspian. Maybe he died, or was hurt. Maybe he finally snapped and tried to kill her. He's wound too tightly around her for it to last. It's only a matter of time before he loses it, I'm sure.

I watched one of the other girls stumble past me. She collapsed at the base of the hill and mumbled to herself for almost ten minutes before she abruptly sprinted off again. She's clearly unstable. Maybe she's schizophrenic. Maybe she's bipolar. Maybe she's eaten something or killed someone and gone insane the way kids did last year. Maybe she just wants to go home. I'll never know her reasons for crying that day, and I've lost my chance to help her.

I watched my own District partner argue with a young man and didn't think for a moment that I should help her if anything went wrong. I didn't smile at her, run to her, show her a friendly face. I just watched and felt nothing.

With a chill, I realized I have crossed the most dangerous line. I have stopped caring. I have done the unthinkable; I have become like the Capitol.

_This is different,_I think desperately. I'm only remaining impartial so nothing can hurt me, so I can see the truth about everything. This is a voyage of discovery and a defense mechanism, nothing darker. I think.

"YAAAAAAAH!" Screams Wesley as he charges the boy. He swings his knife at Remote…Remo…Reno. That's it. Reno. Reno ducks, more out of alarm than as a response to the attack. He's not a killer, you can tell it by the dismay in his eyes.

I lean forward, almost frenzied that I might miss something. All thoughts of my motives and their implications are gone now. For this moment it doesn't matter. I am the watcher, the only one who can observe this murder as it truly is. The audience sees, but they do not experience. They are shielded by the television screen. They don't breathe the same air. They can't hear Reno's shout of alarm and know that he's _right there_. That he's real. When the fight is over they will not smell the blood and be clenched by the fear that the killer has found them too and will immediately turn to take them down as well.

Watching the Hunger Games is a terrible experience. I know. I went through it last year. But sitting there and seeing from the safety of your own couch is not the same as living it. To see this as I do is something I don't think that another could understand. It is a terrible responsibility to make sure that someone truly,_ truly_, sees these deaths. But it is my responsibility and I will not abandon it.

"Reno turns and runs. I don't think he has a weapon, and we both know that without one he has no chance of survival. However, being unburdened will be to his advantage in flight. But he doesn't get far. Wesley's legs are longer, and he tackles Reno down, stabbing his knife into his shoulder.

Part of me points out that I'm doing what is considered unthinkable in the Districts. I'm watching this death without sympathy. Of course, there is the part of me that is upset, tells me I need to do something. Strangely enough, it is my head that is urging me into self-sacrifice. My mind knows that letting something like this happen is wrong. It knows the acceptable response is to intervene and save a life. But my heart doesn't back it up. My heart is unmoved, a strange juxtaposition.

Reno's cry is of pain now. Wesley rips his knife out of the younger boy's back, and to his surprise and mine, Reno slips backwards between his legs and runs again.

He's sneaky; he's slippery and hard to catch. But that won't be enough to save him. It on its own will never be enough to save anyone. I file away all of my thoughts, a human catalogue.

Reno slips around the base of my hill, and I'm forced flat against my stomach. I can no longer see him, or Wesley. It's now silent. I'm unfamiliar with this feeling of not knowing what's going on around me. I don't like it. My job is to see and to know. And everyone knows that if you don't do your work you're punished for it.

I wonder if Reno would be happy that someone is mentally chronicling every moment of his, or if he would want privacy. Privacy that he will never have because there are cameras all around us. I take a surreptitious look around me. It's always a shock to me to remember that there are people closely watching and even cheering on my death. The cameras are high-tech, Capitol tiny, and imperceptible. But they're there. I learned last year that they are most certainly there.

They're there and they're watching my every move. I suddenly wonder about the parents of the children I've allowed to slip by me. They don't understand, I'm sure. I'm sure they don't get the way I feel, like if I touch the scene below me I'll contaminate it and interfere with things I am not to touch. How will I ever explain that to them if I win? Will I even want to? They'll think I'm crazy. But they've never faced the Hunger Games. This is a very special kind of torture. The threat of death is one thing, but the threat of brutal murder by your peers is altogether more disturbing. It doesn't just make you afraid; it twists your mind. Because if that boy you've known all your life, who you talked with in History, can kill, then why not you? If one child your age can do terrible things, then isn't it logical to believe that the same sort of violence is wrapped up inside of you?

You fear your fellow children.

You fear death.

And you fear what is inside of yourself.

**Reno Serman, District 10**

Well, Qwinne, it looks like this is it. My last hurrah. Or, last encounter with a murderous teenager. Same difference.

I can't say anything to you right now out loud, Qwinne, because he'll hear me. I know you'll want me to stay alive for as long as I possibly can, even if I only manage to hold on to a few more fleeting moments. I know if it were you I'd want you around for as many fractions of a second as possible, so that I could hold desperately onto mom's arm and drink in you being alive for one more breath. You know I love you. So I'll stay silent now, for you and for mom.

I try not to breathe. I can barely hear Wesley's footsteps, but I know he's there. He's going to kill me eventually. He's too strong to outfight, and his stride is too long to outrun. Which doesn't leave me with such great options. Out think him? Maybe I could. But I can't just kill him with sheer mind power. I've got nothing to work with here in terms of the landscape, and the only weapon that could possibly be of any use to me is in his hands.

I need his knife, but how can I get it?

I wince as an idea graces me with its presence. A very painful idea, but the only one I have. And it's dangerous.

I'm going to let him stab me.

I leap at him as he rounds the corner, screeching a battle cry to rival the on eh attacked me with. He used to being thee hunter and the aggressor. To have his victim take this sort of initiative is not what he's used to. Poor Wesley. Don't you feel sorry for him? Gee, I know _I _do.

He's so caught off guard that I actually knock him over. I would almost find this funny if I weren't in danger or dying at anytime and stuff. But me, the little fifteen-year-old kid from District 10 bowling over Wesley Sawr, the violent giant from the Capitol's favorite District. I bet the "Gamemakers" are cursing themselves half to death right now.

Again, I'm ever so sorry for them, but I've got more important things to worry about currently. Like his knife flying at my face.

I knock his arm away with a huge effort. It's mostly for show, so that he can't tell what I really want. Partly because it's a reflex to protect my face.

His arm breaks free and comes at me again. I raise my left hand and the blade cuts through it, entering my palm on one side and coming out the other.

I seem to have surprised Wesley again, which is perfect. I punch him in the face and jump backwards off of him, bringing his knife with me.

I realize the one flaw in my plan. I'm so distracted by the pain in my left hand and arm that I can barely focus on the fight. I grab the handle of the knife and pull it backwards out of my hand, almost blacking out from the pain. But I have his weapon, and now the tables are turned. Way turned.

I press my now pretty much useless left arm to my chest, hoping that the combination of elevation and pressure will stop the bleeding, at least for the most part. I hold the knife out, pointed toward Wesley. My hand is shaking from the pain, but it doesn't lessen the effect of this moment. Wesley is frozen, clear disbelief on his face. He's not used to be the one on the ground, the one about to die. I have his knife. Poor Wesley doesn't know what to do in this situation.

Okay, even I'm starting to get tired of all my fake sympathy. I'll stop now.

We don't move. I have his knife pointed at his chest, but I'm too far away to kill him with one movement. I'm far enough away that Wesley could slip away if he really wanted to. I'm providing him with an option that he had no intention of offering to me. Escape.

I see him eying the knife, and then his eyes flickering out to the open plains to his left. I'm shocked to see that he is even considering whether or not to run. I realize there must be something wrong with Wesley, at least a little bit. He'd rather risk death for his knife that survive without it. That can't be healthy. It's just not normal.

I'm still surprised by his decision as he launches himself at me. I feel the point of the knife connect with his body, and he bellows in pain. I'm in shock. He just stabbed himself to get at me. He punches me hard in the side of the face and I feel a few teeth get knocked loose.

Well, he stole my strategy, Qwinne. As I'm knocked away, the knife stays in his body. Where I sacrificed my left hand, Wesley's let it lodge in his chest. He rips it out with an animalistic howl and jumps on me, winging it down at the space between my eyes.

I'm not going to say goodbye, Qwinne. Because I know it's not my goodbye to give. You can hold on to my memory for as long as you need the comfort it gives you to be able to keep going on. I don't belong to me, and I never have. I belong to all the people who love me. We all do. But when you give of yourself to someone else, they give you something back. We share ourselves like this, and it keeps us full. So you can have what's left of me. You and mom, and our cousins and friends. Dad too, if he still cares after walking out on us all those years ago. I don't need myself anymore.

And I love you, Qwinne. I love mom, and you, and everyone. The knife is piercing my skin now, Qwinne, but I love you. I love you all. I will alwa-

**Surviving Contestants:**

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Hary Lumer (Hawr-ee Loo-mur)

Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: Nolaf Killt (No-lof Kilt)

District 4: Mattrick Brint (Ma-trick Brihnt)

Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: None

District 7: Kiteriin Fromet (Kit-er-een Fro-met)

District 8: Caspian Toushone (Cas-pee-in Too-shown)

Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)

District 9: None

District 10: None

District 11: Dewq Deffen (Duke Def-in)

Berra Timsing (Bare-uh Tim-zing)

District 12: None


	14. Dreamland

**A/N**- This chapter is brought to you almost completely by my cousin's iPod and the songs found therein. For the curious, Adrian's POV is brought to you by the song "Hello" by Evanescence. Kiteriin's is inspired by "I'm So Sick" by Flyleaf. I own neither. Both belong to their respective artists. Happy reading!

**Chapter 13**

**Adrian Martinez, District 5**

"Reno Serman," I tell Baylyn as the kid's face fades away. "He was fifteen. He had a sister, Qwinne. I heard him mention something about her to Berra, the District 11 girl back in the pre-Games holding building."

I hear the rustle of grass under Baylyn's head as she nods. "What else do you remember about him?"

I sigh. "Not much. I never talked to him. But he seemed like a good kid. A really good kid."

"It's sad, isn't it? That the good kids are the ones who get punished and the cruel ones are going to win and live out their lives."

"Wrianin Abro wasn't cruel," I point out.

"You really think every winner of the Hunger Games is going to be a good person who just couldn't keep their friends alive?" Baylyn asks. "I don't. And for every Wrianin there's bound to be a…To, or a Eulkichu or a Wesley. Someone who's not afraid to kill if it'll save them. And the good guys just can't fight back, because they refuse to use the tactics that others will sink to."

"People say that good always conquers evil in the end, but sometimes it seems like the things that have to happen, almost make it seem not worth it."

I'm silent. I don't know if I'm supposed to say anything, so I just think about it.

"I don't think anything bad can go on forever. People are too selfish to let that happen. They won't put up with it," I say finally.

Baylyn nods again. "And then new evils just take their place."

I look at her from the corner of my eye. "So you're saying you think people should just give up? Should just stop trying to fix the world because we're never going to be able to get it perfect?"

"No- well…I don't know what I mean," She sighs. "It's just hard to keep fighting when you're pretty sure that you'll never be happy, no matter how things turn out."

"That sounds an awful lot like giving up to me," I say, half teasing and half deadly serious.

Baylyn sits up and tilts her head back to look at the frosty clear stars above our heads. I wonder what it's like for them up there, so distant from one another. From everything. Safe from pain and danger and love and happiness and everything else that makes life so strange and complicated.

"Maybe. I just get the feeling that even if I win somehow, it won't be worth it. The price is awfully high. Twenty-three people, at least one of which will die at_my_hands…I don't know if I can want that."

"Which is why you deserve it," I say.

"And we're back where we started, with only the murderers being rewarded," she sighs.

"Maybe someone will find some way to stop it eventually," I say. I don't know what to call it. A dream, a hope, a prayer. I just know how much I want it. Want the killing to stop.

"Not in time for us to get away. Or at least, one of us anyway," Baylyn murmurs.

I'm silent, because there's absolutely nothing to say to that. What can you possibly tell someone who will need to die if you want to live? What lies could you tell them to make it better? Nothing more than they could tell you.

There are always words to say, even now, but to speak them is almost unnecessary. They're written into our hearts and minds. They're inescapable.

The full moon's light shines down, turning everything into black and silver. As Baylyn and I sit in silence, trying to avoid the idea that one of us will die for the other to live. It's almost a physical thing, the moonlight. It's like being in another world, being underwater. You could swim through the moonlight, float a boat over the weight of sorrow. My eyes slide over the silver-blue grasses that surround us. They're perfectly still, unstirred by even the smallest breath of wind. It really is like the world has stopped in this moment.

"If…it comes to that…" Baylyn says with difficulty, "What are supposed to do?"

I don't look at her, just keep looking at the horizon's black expanse. "I don't know," I answer honestly. A thousand different scenarios play out in my head at once. In some I'm crowned the winner, in others Baylyn is, in many more we're both lowered into the ground, cold and dead. In some we both manage to escape, but there's no plan behind it. It's just fantasy. Fantasy won't save us.

"Me neither," she murmurs, and puts her chin down on her knees.

I almost feel like I_do_know, but it's like I'm sure of too many things at once, that don't make any sense together. I feel like I know I'll win and that Baylyn will and that we'll both die here. But only one can be right.

"Do you want to win?" Baylyn asks.

"Yes," I answer honestly. "I want to go home. I want to have my eighteenth birthday. I want to find Lier again, make sure she's okay. I want to forgive her and hear her tell me she forgives me too. I want to see my parents again, and my friends. I don't want to die."

We're silent.

"You?" I ask.

"Yes," Baylyn says after a moment. "If I survive this I'll have more to live for than I ever did before. I won't have to marry off into money, because I'll have more than enough of my own. We can move out of the slums. Maybe I can even find some way to get my brothers to stop drinking. But…what else am I going to take with me? Guilt?" She asks, her face darkening.

"Nightmares," I murmur.

"The hate of twenty-three families. How can you move forward with that?"

"You find something worth living for, I guess," I say back.

A gentle wind blows and then dies down again, like a false attempt at a smile.

Baylyn sighs and slowly lies down on her back, eyes fixed again on the stars. "If it's you and me I don't think I'll be able to do it. What scares me is the idea that I might be able to. What if something happens, and I'm that changed, so much that I'm willing to kill you?"

I understand what she means. It will never happen, I'm sure, but it's impossible not to fear the person you might become or the things you might do.

"You won't," I say simply. Because I'm sure.

"Neither will you," she says with finality.

It's a pact, one that I don't quite understand. We've agreed that we won't hurt each other. But what if it's us two at the end? What are we supposed to do? But somehow I'm sure it won't come to that. It can't.

The wind blows again, gently. It doesn't die this time. It's like we were given a reprieve to work through all of that, and the moment is gone now. At any moment we could die. It's a reality I'm none too happy to return to.

The wind is cold and Baylyn curls up beside me for warmth and closes her eyes. I'm taking first watch, I guess. Alright. That's fine. I need some more time to think.

**Kiteriin Fromet, District 7**

I'm having a terrible nightmare, I know. But I can't wake up. I've already tried. I've ripped out my hair, screamed at the sky. I've begged someone to wake me up. But I'm stuck here.

I'm in danger, that's all I know. No matter how long the dream stretches, my death is a split second away from me. It wouldn't make sense in the waking world, but in dreams it is the truth.

I don't know what is threatening me. It crowds into my mind so totally that I can't understand what it is, like something held so close to your face that you go cross-eyed trying to look at it. It's pressing in on me like thousand pounds of pure hate and fear. It is all around me; it's so close to me. It hovers just outside of my body, malevolence and anonymousness clawing at my mind.

It cannot be outrun, but to stop is too much to imagine. Run, run, run. Run everywhere and nowhere because of no reason but the terror clawing its way through my gut. Ripping me open and tearing me apart before I can even cry out in pain.

I can't cry out; my throat is blocked by the sheer enormity of my terror. Why is everything so black? My vision swims as the mist hangs over me like a blanket, tucking me into bed to sleep forever. It won't let me scream. But I scream with my eyes, with the way my jaw works and the shaking of my body.

I trip and I fall toward the ground for years, catching myself on pebbles that rip into my hands like the sharpest edges of glass as they free my blood. Good, good. At least part of me can escape, can run away from this. If I bleed to death maybe all of me can escape in little pieces. My axe spins away and I forget about it immediately. It's of no use to fight this, just extra weight to slow me down.

I hum to myself because the music is supposed to help. That's why mother used to sing to me. So I wouldn't be afraid. But the danger drinks my song before it passes my lips, leaving me so silent that perhaps I'm not asleep but dead and in eternal punishment for the life I took. But her death was quick. This is far worse than death, and it's not over.

It slips down onto me like a hand against my skin and I can scream. I scream. I scream. I scream. I can scream again.

It coats my fingers and its touch is the clammy cool fingers of a drowned corpse. It touches my wrist like blood pouring from a wound. My elbows are consumed in acid. My head is wrapped in a funeral cloth and my shoulders are purged by fire. Spiders' legs rustle down my back and snakes' dry sliminess wraps my legs. My feet are frozen by mist that hangs in a graveyard like a silent mourner.

It has taken me completely. It is all around me, sinking into my skin just slowly enough to make me craze the death that is still half a moment away from me and always will be.

I am falling through myself as I scream and it chases me down where I thought no one could follow. I run deeper into my soul, feeling it tear me apart at the edges. It eats away my love, my joy, my humor. It rips apart the good inside me, so there can be more room for the fear. The fear that makes me want to kill the world so that it will stop and I will end. It runs through me like I do not exist but to give it form. Every scream that issues from my mouth is pure fear escaping to sweeten the world in its selfish way. Every hair my still-moving hands rip from my head is its food and drink and it revels in the sanity the pain drives further and further away. As I claw my face to cut it out of me, ripping at my skin, the funeral wrappings, the blood is merely fear running down my face. The tears are fashionable young ladies leaving a party, draped in mild-mannered silk and diamonds. They laugh at me struggle because it's lovely in their eyes.

I want it to stop, only for it to stop. I must kill it. I see it all around me. There! A movement catches my eye and I scream and launch at it.

I must kill it.

I must die.

I must wake up.

But I can't wake up. I can't. I can't wake up, because I'm already awake.

**Surviving Contestants:**

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Hary Lumer (Hawr-ee Loo-mur)

Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: Nolaf Killt (No-lof Kilt)

District 4: Mattrick Brint (Ma-trick Brihnt)

Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: None

District 7: Kiteriin Fromet (Kit-er-een Fro-met)

District 8: Caspian Toushone (Cas-pee-in Too-shown)

Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)

District 9: None

District 10: None

District 11: Dewq Deffen (Duke Def-in)

Berra Timsing (Bare-uh Tim-zing)

District 12: None


	15. Choices

**A/N**- Once more, a big thanks to ForeverAdrian, who was my beta reader for this last batch of chapters.

**Chapter 14**

**Hary Lumer, District 2**

I'm woken up by fingers on my throat.

I cry out as best I can without being able to breathe. My vision is crowded by a mass of hair, white-blond and dirty though it's silvered by the moonlight. My ears are filled with a horrible screaming sound that I know isn't coming from me because I haven't got that much air in my lungs to waste. It must be my assailant, but why are they screaming like that?

I don't have time to waste on thinking, I realize, because I'm starting to feel woozy. I force myself to focus and jab my thumbs at approximately where the attacker's eyes must be. One of them hits the mark, and the person's screams take on a new tone: A screech of pain.

I take advantage of their surprise to reel back and punch them hard with both hands, one fist connecting directly below each side of their collarbone. The girl, she must be since her hair is so long, is thrown backwards. The horrible sound doesn't stop coming out her mouth. It's like she's possessed.

She scrambles desperately, trying to flip onto her hands and knees, but she's in such a frenzy that she can't even get right side up.

I stumble to my feet and run, panting with the unexpected exertion and panic. I hear the girl's demonic bleating getting louder, so she must be following me again.

What am I supposed to do? I can't take her out with any of my under-handed plans because she's not in a fit state to be tricked, as far as I can tell. I don't have anything to use as a weapon. But then again, neither does she. She _is _pretty small. Maybe I could take her down that way. I gulp. Hand-to-hand combat…I've never really been the violent type. I have no experience with this.

I spin to face her, and am surprised at the amount of force with which she slams into me. We're knocked to the ground, and she goes for my face with her nails. I grab her wrists and push her arms away from me painfully, till her hands are next to her ears. She's pinning my legs, so I sink my teeth into her shoulder. She screams and pulls backwards reflexively. The moonlight glints off her eyes. Her mouth is open, always emitting that horrible noise. What is wrong with her?

I hardly have time to wonder before she slams into my legs, taking me down. I kick her hard and feel teeth come loose in her mouth. She doesn't seem to notice the pain any more, as her thrashing intensifies. There's no method to her fighting, only maddened power. Her arms flail and her teeth snap. Her eyes look right past me as she clamps onto my arm. I wrench away and run, but my doctor's pack is left in her grip. I curse, but keep running. The bag has become a distraction, and I can hear her ripping it to pieces and smashing glass bottles.

Great. Now what am I supposed to do?

_Day ten._

Caspian Toushone, District 8

I've still got Roe's trail, as much as it kills me to follow it. Stupid sense of duty. Stupid honor. Stupid responsible me.

I sigh. What am I supposed to do if Roe won't come back? Do I give up then? Do I figure out some way to keep her here? Is that even possible without a whole lot of rope? Where could I get a lot of rope? Nah, it's not even worth it. I'll just figure out what to do if and when Roe refuses, and focus on finding her in the first place right now. She can't be too far ahead of me. Knowing her she's been distracted by every butterfly that flew across her path and every random thought that popped into her tiny brain. I'm pretty sure she didn't make very good time. Not that I'm moving too fast either. Maybe if I'm lucky someone will get to her first and take her off my hands, one way or the other.

Is that a sick thing to wish for? I don't know. I don't even care anymore. It's a nice feeling, being able to not care. I've done way too much caring over the past week and three days. I stop abruptly. Wait…it's really only been ten days? I blink. It has. I've done enough caring and felt enough fear to last me for years. Okay, maybe not years, but a heck of a lot longer than a week and a half.

I shake my head in wonder and keep going. I'm walking for once. It's a lot easier to keep on Roe's track this way. On my knees I can't keep track of where I'm going. It would be nice to be able to walk around normally again, except this isn't normal in any way. I'm in danger of being murdered by a teenager at any moment. Normal in your book? Not in mine.

I hear her before I see her. She's talking to someone, or knowing her, to no one. I hesitate a little. Just the sound of her weird, disjointed conversation is almost enough to stop me from walking up to her. I'm sure she hasn't noticed me yet. I could turn around right now and just walk away. I don't think anyone could really blame me. Except for me. I sigh. It's the strangest feeling, wanting someone to just leave you alone forever and yet feeling the undeniable need to protect her. Let me tell you, it sucks. But I can't acknowledge little annoyances like Roe Tamden or gnawing hunger when my life is on the line the way it is right now. I'll deal with it, and Roe if she doesn't run away again.

I crawl into the little clearing she's flattened out, probably by rolling around in her sleep. It's early morning now, and the sun has woken her up.

She freezes in the middle of babbling about lizards and we look at each other silently.

"Uh…yeah…hi," Roe, obviously.

"Hey," me this time.

We sit in silence for a moment before Roe abruptly begins talking about the color orange. How her thought processes led her from lizards to orange, I don't know.

I sigh. Well, back to the old grind.

**Baylyn Homer, District 1**

We sit in silence, staring at the ground. This isn't our usual contented silence. This is tense. The store of herbs we've been living of off since we ate the last of our cornucopia food has run out. Not that it was a terrific source of food in the first place, but it was something. Neither of us has any other plants to eat. Actually, we don't have anything except the knife. We had the greens tucked into our pockets and belts and wherever else they would stay, but that's gone now.

Adrian drums his fingers against his legs, a nervous tic that he seems to be developing.

"We'll just find some more," he says, with forced casualness, that kind of ruins the confident dismissal of his words.

"I haven't seen any more," I say.

"We'll find it," he insists. He stands up and stretches. "Let's go, then."

Adrian offers me his hand and I pull myself up.

"Where to, then?" I ask, giving his hand a squeeze before letting go. Adrian shrugs.

"I dunno. Where did we find it the first time?"

"You're Mr. Photographic Memory. You tell me," I answer. Adrian rubs the side of his head thoughtfully.

"Hmm…there's a patch next to the bend in the river where we fought that…whatever it was. I think I saw one at the cornucopia back on the first day. There's the patch we got these from, but that's all used up."

"I hate to say this, but I think we ought to pay a visit to that bend in the river. We need to take another drink anyway. Kill two birds with one stone and all that."

Adrian sighs. Bad memories of that particular spot in the river. But then again, we don't have any proof that the whatsit that almost drowned Adrian doesn't travel up and down the entire river.

"Alright, let's go," Adrian says. He turns and sets off. I don't remember the river as being in that direction, but "Adrian knows best" is pretty much the rule I've learned to live by. I suppose he needed my help when I threw him the knife, but other than that he's pretty much carrying our alliance. If I thought he minded at all I would feel bad. But I know he wants to be alone about as much as I do. Which is, not very much. He values his friends.

"We're halfway there, you know," he says quietly.

"Really?" I ask, almost surprised.

"Mm-hm. Both kids from 3 are gone, so is my District partner, both from 6, the younger boy from 7, both from 9, both from 10, and both from 12.

"Wow," I say softly. "I can only imagine what their families are going through. And their friends. Did you know your District partner?"

"Nah. I'd never met her before we were shipped down to the Capitol. She didn't like me much. She said I was too quiet and I creeped her out."

I laugh. "You? Quiet?"

He shrugs. "Not around you. Only when I'm trying to pick up as much information about a person as possible."

"So…what did you 'pick up' about her?"

"I didn't like Heiress very much. She was self-centered. She didn't hate the Capitol sentencing killing twenty-three children to death; she just hated them for sentencing_ her_ to death. She seemed to think that everyone should be focusing on her, all the time," he says, sporting a look of stale distaste. It's hard to hate someone who's dead and gone.

"At least you two weren't close," I say.

"What about you? You know Wesley at all?" Adrian asks. Abruptly he grabs my arm and pulls me to my knees.

"What's going on?" I whisper. Adrian is still for a moment, and then helps me back up.

"False alarm. I saw something, but it was just a bird," he dismisses.

"The last bird we ran into ripped up your arm pretty badly," I point out.

"It wasn't heading towards us," Adrian says, "So…did you know Wesley before?"

I cock my head and look at him. "Why do you care?"

"You asked me about Heiress first," he points out. "Why do _you _care?"

"She's dead," I answer. "Wesley's not. I was worried that you might be upset that she died."

"Not really. She had to for…one of us to get home," Adrian says quietly, which is an effective buzz kill. Our walk stops for a moment as we stand in silence, but I take his hand and start walking again.

"I didn't know Wesley. He was probably from around my part of District 1, though. Otherwise he would have probably been more of a Capitol fan," I say, drawing the conversation away from death.

"Like the District 4 kid?" Adrian says.

"Yeah. I know a lot of uptowners that think the same way. I feel bad for him. He's not going to last much longer, I don't think. Too rich, too soft," I say sadly. I wish that nobody, even somebody like him, had to die.

"He's got no excuse. If he's such a big fan of the Capitol, then he should deal with their little war Games and let the rest of us who are less enthusiastic about their reign mind our own business," Adrian says back.

I shrug. "It hardly matters now. He's going to die, anyway."

Some little animal runs across our path.

"You know, Wesley's still only sixteen," I tell Adrian. "He's even younger than you."

Adrian looks at me. "Really? That's…I don't know. He's a killer. He's twisted."

Almost like he's angry at Adrian for saying that, Wesley barrels out of the grass and slams into him.

Adrian's hand is ripped out of my grasp. Wesley slams an arm into my torso, and I'm surprised how hard I'm knocked backwards. My feet literally leave the ground for a moment and I roll back about ten feet before I stop. I wheeze in pain for a moment before I manage to flip onto my hands and knees.

Adrian and Wesley are locked in an intense knife fight. Adrian's faster and smarter, but it's easy to see that he's not strong enough to compete with Wesley's sheer muscle mass. Even with what looks like a pretty fresh wound in his shoulder, Wesley is unstoppably strong.

I'm frozen. My mind is racing in that counter-productive panic attack way when you're thinking so hard about yourself make a decision that you can't choose for the life of you. I'm flooded with a sudden sense of panic. This fight, as far as I can tell, is to the death. One of the boys, either Adrian or my District partner, will not be walking away from this fight. How am I supposed to choose which one?

I was telling the truth. I hardly know Wesley. But there's something about knowing he's from home that makes him almost a lifeline. He ties me back to the things that matter to me. But I don't know him or care for him the way I do for Adrian. I think I'm going to be sick.

Their knives clash again, and Adrian's is knocked out of his hand. Wesley smashes the hilt of his own knife into Adrian's temple. Adrian is knocked to the ground and Wesley's knees are pinning his arms down almost before my brain has time to process what's going on. Wesley grabs a hold of Adrian's jaw, forcing back his chin and exposing his neck. Wesley raises his knife above his head, preparing to swing it down and rip open Adrian's throat, and it's like time freezes.

I'm suddenly sure that this isn't about choosing between Adrian and Wesley at all. The choice is almost insultingly obvious. Adrian. Always Adrian. I can't think of anyone I'd save if his life was the cost.

No. It's not the boys I'm debating about. It's the lives they symbolize. When I see Wesley all I can think of is my life from before. Not perfect, or even good by most people's measures, but so much better than this blood sport. I'm trying to cling to that, to the memory of my well-meaning father and my friendly drunkard brothers. But, in my mind, this is Adrian's place. My new, frightening life in this twisted arena. That's the choice I'm really making. Do I accept that this is how things are, or do I try to shelter myself just a little bit longer?

My choice isn't good, but it's clear.

I throw myself at Wesley, dragging his arm off course just as he starts to swing it down. I surprise him enough by attacking to knock him off Adrian's body almost completely. I reel back and punch him in the nose.

I'm surprised by how much it hurts my hand, and by the feeling of his nose breaking under my fist. He howls in shock and his hands fly to his face. I turn and run. Just as I'd hoped, Wesley's upset enough that I smashed his nose to leap off Adrian and follow me instead. I glance back quickly as I sprint away. The fire in his gray eyes makes it clear that I have now made this personal. I'm just a girl, not even a fighter like Evita or To from last year, and I've messed up his face. He's pretty dang mad.

I see Adrian trying woozily to sit up, but he's still dazed from Wesley's dagger smashing into his head.

I turn back to the path and I'm crashing through the grasses. They're beginning to look very crossed through now, but I'm still blazing a trail most of the time. Wesley doesn't have to deal with that. He just runs in my wake.

I stretch my long legs for all they're worth. I'm tall, but I'm not the athlete that Wesley is, and I'm sure he's gaining on me. I pour on even more speed, trying to get as far away from Adrian before I'm caught. I hope Adrian doesn't try to follow me. It's pointless. I'll be dead before he gets to me, and he's not in any state to fight Wesley at the moment. If he tries to be a hero, all that will happen is we'll both die. But I'm afraid he might, even though I'm sure he's smart enough to have worked all this out on his own, because that's the sort of person he is. If there's any chance of saving me, I know he'll try. I'm sure that this is my death sentence, but he'll latch on to the tiniest possibility that it's not.

My lungs burn and I'm pretty sure I've never worked my legs this hard before, but I keep going. The human instinct to survive is very strong. You'd be surprised how fast you can run when your life depends on it.

Wesley's fingers tangle in my hair, and he yanks back. With a shriek, I fall backwards. Wesley neatly throws me to the ground and slams onto my torso. I hear the familiar snap of ribs and I'm almost blinded by pain. This isn't like the time Adrian stepped on my stomach and broke two or three. I'm pretty sure Wesley's trying to shatter as many as possible. And succeeding.

His weight is lifted off my body and before I have time to be grateful I'm lifted into the air and smashed against a conveniently placed tree trunk. Well thought out, Baylyn. _Great _place to run out of steam.

I fall in a heap to the base of the tree and try to force my eyes open against the immense pain shooting behind me temples and eyes. Wesley's fingers wrap around my throat. The kid's a giant, and his hand goes most of the way around my neck. He lifts me off the ground just enough to bash my head against the trunk of the tree. He does it again and then throws me back against the ground.

I moan pathetically and his foot smashes into my side. He kneels, his knees coming down hard, one on each of my arms. My vision is red, either because I've got blood flowing into my eyes or because the pain is messing with my head. I can barely see Wesley as he leans down. His knife comes down too. I'm pretty sure it goes into my body, but I can't tell where because everything hurts too much already for the knife to even register.

My head is jerked up so that I'm looking into his eyes.

So he's finished playing with his food now. I hope he finishes it quickly. I'd die right now if I could stop being in this much pain.

He puts his lips to my ear. "That's for my nose. But you know what? You're my District partner and I'm in a good mood today, so I'm going to go easy on you. I'll let you live, but after Final Eight you're game just as much as anybody else. Well, provided you don't bleed out," he snarls.

He stands up, spits on me, and strides away, the little animal I saw earlier bouncing along at his heels.

My view of the world around me is spinning. Blackness is encroaching on the edge of my vision. The only thing that keeps me awake is that I know what will happen if I let myself slip away into that wonderful, painless, darkness. I won't wake up. That strong human urge to survive can only get me so far, though. I'm pretty sure I'm bleeding, probably heavily. I need to bandage myself. Somehow. I try to make my body move, but the pain is so intense that the blackness rushes in eagerly from the edges of my eyes and I have to stop before I black out.

Wesley didn't go easy on me. Easy would have been killing me a long time ago. Easy would have been slitting my throat when he grabbed onto my braid. Easy would have been picking me off on the first day so I didn't have to suffer. Easy would be almost anything but this.

Every second seems stretched hugely by the amount of pain packed into a moment, so I can't say how long I lie here. But eventually a figure swims into my vision. Everything seems so blurry that it takes me a moment to realize that it's Adrian. I'm glad that I can't see the look in his eyes. The only thing that could possibly make me feel worse at this moment would be the guilt of knowing how much it was hurting the people who care about me to see me like this.

"Baylyn, can you hear me?" He asks, trying to stay calm. But I know the sound of Adrian's voice when he's faking that everything's okay. Whatever I look like after Wesley mauled me, it's not good.

"Y-yeah," I croak, choking on blood that I didn't realize was running into my mouth. "Glad you're…here. W-Wesley…?" I force out,

"He's gone," Adrian growls. I hear something ripping and I'm pretty sure it's his shirt.

"Good," I choke, "If he…comes back, run."

"Yeah right," he spits.

I have to admit, I'm glad that he's not leaving. I don't want to be alone, because I think I'm dying. The black haze has begun to steal over more and more of my field of vision, and nothing I'm doing is slowing it down any more. All I can really see is the beautiful blue of the sky and the blur that is Adrian's face as he works desperately to wrap up one of my wounds. I smile a little bit at him as my eyelids become too heavy to hold open.

"Baylyn?" He exclaims. "Baylyn, keep your eyes open. Come on, please! Baylyn. Baylyn!"

As my mind drifts away the last thing I can hear is Adrian shouting, trying to keep me awake. But now it's too late.

**Mattrick Brint, District 4**

"WOULD YOU JUST SHUT_ UP_?" Berra screams. My eyes widen and she claps her hands over her mouth. My breakfast of some sort of grass is frozen halfway to my mouth. We wait in terrified silence for someone to pop out of thin air and attack us or something. But even if nobody has gotten here yet, we can be pretty sure that somebody, somewhere, heard that. We can just hope it was somebody like Roe or Dewq or somebody else who won't attack us unless we provoke them. But what if it's one of the angry kids like Wesley or my District partner, Evita? Then we're in trouble.

"What were you_ thinking_, Berra?" I hiss. Yes, I'm annoying. Even I know it. But I would never do something that stupid to put us in so much danger.

"You wouldn't shut up!" She snarls, "I knew teaming up with you was a bad idea. We're just getting on each other's nerves!"

"No, I'm getting on_ your _nerves. I actually like you when you're not being a b-"

"You better shut up! I'm a nice person when I'm not around Capitol-loving jerks like you!"

"_I'm _a jerk? I don't look down on _you_ for disagreeing with my beliefs. I don't look at _your _lifestyle and turn up my nose. I'm the only one trying to put anything into this alliance. I keep talking to you and smiling at you even though I know you're only going to snap at me and tell me to shut up. I swallow every insult and ignore it every time you give me the cold shoulder. Excuse my ignorance, but I've never known any jerks who act like that!" I explode.

Berra and I stay nose-to-nose. I realize our problem. We both believe totally that we are right. And that's when I give up.

"Bye," I say abruptly, dropping down out of her precious tree. Berra seems stunned for a moment. I brush myself off, pocket the rest of my grass, and begin to stride off.

"Wait, what?" I hear her ask. I turn to look at her just as she drops down to the ground after me. She doesn't look angry anymore, just really, really, confused.

"Don't look at me like that!" I growl. "This is what you've wanted the whole time, isn't it? You want me to leave you alone, so that's what I'm going to do. Congratulations, Berra Timsing. You're getting your wish."

"Why now?" She asks incredulously, "Why not yesterday? Or the day before? Did I say something different?"

"No. I just got tired of you being a close-minded little jerk. I'm done, Berra," and I turn away again.

I don't really want to leave; I just want her to stop being so nasty to me, but as far as I can tell that is never going to happen. And never is not worth waiting for.

**Berra Timsing, District 11**

I'm…confused. Mattrick was right. I have wanted this for pretty much as long as I've known him. Even two minutes ago I wanted it more than just about anything. But now that I've got it…I don't know. I feel a little lost. I'm alone, which is…good? But now what?

I watch Mattrick's back disappear as he kneels to the ground with as much dignity as a sixteen-year-old boy about to crawl around on his hands and knees can possibly manage.

I almost break down and follow him, except…I don't want that. I don't want him around. But…I do?

I'm divided neatly in half. Half of me can't stand Mattrick and isn't willing to compromise my strict ideas of morals and accept what he stands for. Half of me is desperate for a friend and has to admit that he's a pretty good one. He's nice. But the part of me that hates him is just a little bigger. It's just large enough to root my feet where I stand. I stand watching the spot where he slipped into one of our old travel trails. It's pretty final when I realize that he's retracing the old path. I'll never find him now. I won't be able to tell where he turns. He's gone, so I might as well deal with it.

I scowl. I hate second-guessing myself. Right now I'm doing a lot of that. Not that it matters anymore. But unfortunately, feelings are never quite reined in by little things like thoughts and logic. I turn back to my tree and climb up into the low branches. I rub the letters and numbers etched into the bark. Twelve of them. We're halfway there. Four more dead children will bring those heart-wrenching interviews where friends and family talk about their dying children. I wonder who it's going to be this year. Mattrick's parents? My brother? Dewq's best friend?

It's humiliating as well as cruel. To have someone paraded around on national television in a celebration totally based around the torture and death of his or her loved one is disgusting. It's twisted and based totally on showing them how much power you have over them. I hated the interviews almost as much as the Games. It's the way I am. When someone dies, I feel less sorry for him or her than for the ones who suffer because they've been left behind. To watch those men, women, and kids forcing themselves to stay strong or failing and breaking down made something twist in my stomach. If it weren't for the darker implications of it, I'd hope that my family and friends never needed to go through that. But it'll hurt them if I die, too. So there's really no good option.

I lean my face against the tree and sigh. I look at the trail through which Mattrick disappeared again. I guess I'm alone now.

Nope. There's never a good option.

**Surviving Contestants:**

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Hary Lumer (Hawr-ee Loo-mur)

Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: Nolaf Killt (No-lof Kilt)

District 4: Mattrick Brint (Ma-trick Brihnt)

Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: None

District 7: Kiteriin Fromet (Kit-er-een Fro-met)

District 8: Caspian Toushone (Cas-pee-in Too-shown)

Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)

District 9: None

District 10: None

District 11: Dewq Deffen (Duke Def-in)

Berra Timsing (Bare-uh Tim-zing)

District 12: None


	16. The Gamemakers

**Chapter 15**

Azin Hellwick stood calmly toward the corner of the room, watching the rest of the Gamemaker Assembly calmly. The nervous chatter would die down soon enough. It always did in her presence. She knew the official "Gamemakers", as she'd dubbed them, hated having her around. But after the way last year's Games had gone, she was unwilling to leave them on their own. It was going to be a couple of years before she believed they were competent enough to run the Hunger Games, she was sure. 'Til then, she'd just have to keep an eye on them.

The Gamemakers took seats around their large table. President Hellwick took her seat at the very head of the table and laced her fingers on the table. She looked pleasant and encouraging, but anyone who knew President Azin Hellwick knew that that was a façade more often than not, and that friendly exterior could snap to reveal explosive rage at any moment.

"Shall we begin?" She asked with a small smile.

Someone brought up a projector image, a wallpaper of the twenty-four children. The dead's portraits had faded to black and white while the living were indicated by full color and a live video feed.

The boy from District 1 was sulking around and licking his wounds. Azin was less than pleased with his performance. Reno, _Reno Serman_, had wounded him. Maybe they'd overestimated his strength. It might not be enough to make up for the fact that he was a total ignoramus.

Her eyes flickered to the screen that had been allocated to the 1/5 alliance. Wesley had beaten that girl pretty well before he let her go. That Martinez boy was doing all he could to save her, but she could see in his eyes that even he understood what was happening. She was dying in his arms. It would take some pretty fancy healing to pull her through that. The president honestly didn't care whether or not he saved her. Either way it was a delicious little drama.

The medicine boy seemed lost without his bag. Hellwick supposed it had been a security blanket of sorts. Of course, it was much more useful than a baby blanket, but the effect was the same. He had relied on it too much. He was wandering toward 1/5 though, which could prove interesting.

The screen for the 2/4 girls was situated right in the center. The Gamemakers were more interested in these two than in most of the others. These two were willing to kill, and they had done so. They were more useful tools, so they got more attention. At the moment they weren't doing anything terribly interesting, but it was excusable. They were resting.

The boy from District 4 had his own screen now, ever since he left the District 11 girl. The president's lip lifted in a sneer. He disgusted her. His weakness was pathetic. Now that he had split off their alliance he wasn't even good for entertainment value anymore. So he'd outlived his usefulness and would be killed. It was as simple as that. At least, in the president's mind it was. She watched him with disgust for a moment as he wandered in the direction of the river. Pathetic.

The girl from 7 was a particular interest of hers. The effects of the Games on the mental state of the contestants fascinated her. Aria Lyemann had went insane due to the stresses of the Games last year, and now so had Kiteriin Fromet. The president wondered if this trend would continue, or whether the children would be better prepared for the Hunger Games psychologically as the years passed and it became a more accepted part of life in Panem. Which she was sure it would. Kiteriin, at the moment, was rocking back and forth and muttering to herself. Really, it was too much, Hellwick had to smile.

The kids from 8 were fan favorites, mostly because the audience found the girl's idiocy entertaining, but Azin Hellwick had a low opinion of them. She abhorred stupidity and thought Caspian Toushone should have killed off the girl a long time ago. But she didn't care if the Gamemakers took them out or if they died on their own. Everything would come to a head eventually. Fairly soon, if they kept heading towards Wesley Sawr at that rate.

The boy from District 11 was boring, quite frankly. Hellwick didn't care what happened to him. Well, she cared even less than she did about the rest of them. He was sitting around on his hill as usual and eating plants.

The girl from11 was her favorite. She had hated the 4 boy and endeared herself quite a bit to the president. But that tree she was sitting in was the only problem. That was not imagery that they could allow to continue. Something would have to be done.

Cyril Debrown cleared his throat respectfully. Even he wouldn't risk angering the president with rudeness.

Azin Hellwick's eyes trained on his and she gave him a slight nod.

"First order of business is Wesley Sawr, Designation: D1B. His sparing of his District partner has compromised his position in some eyes. We are debating whether or not to withdraw our personal support," Cyril said, as Wesley's official media headshot was brought up onto the screen.

"No. Leave it. It's more dramatic to have D5B trying to save her," the president said, and of course no one tried to argue.

"Alright. Secondly, some have suggested manipulating the Final Eight," he said, and the screen returned to showing the twenty-four children in black and white or color.

Azin Hellwick sat back with a half smile as arguments erupted around her. She'd let them work this one out for themselves.

**Wesley Sawr, District 1**

This is embarrassing. That's the best way to put it. It's downright embarrassing. A girl, a scrawny little girl, managed to smash my nose and the tiny kid managed to stab me. I swear even Chip is looking at me like I'm a loser.

Oh, that's what I've decided to call the robot. I thought he looked the most like a chipmunk, but RoboChipmunk is a mouthful. Plus, since he's a robot, so he's probably got microchips and stuff in him. So, Chip. Haha. I thought that was pretty funny.

But right now Chip isn't being very nice company. I swear he's glaring at me.

"I would have liked to see you do better!" I exclaim in annoyance. Chip's head just twitches so that he can look at me sideways.

"Everyone's a critic," I grumble.

Chip chatters at me and runs off. I'm not worried; he does this all the time. He'll come back. He always does, even when he's not trying to signal me to follow him. I don't know what he does out there, but I really don't care.

I sit back slowly, ignoring the pain shooting out around my left shoulder, upper chest, and my face. It hurts like heck. This is backwards. I'm supposed to be making _other_ people hurt like this. It's never supposed to happen to me. I brush my hand against the hole and hiss in pain. I don't even bother touching my nose. That's too recent to bug yet. I think it's even still bleeding.

I have to admit, running after Baylyn like that was hasty. I grabbed my knife before I went. I should have killed off her little boyfriend or whoever that was before I left. But she counted on my pride making me chase after her, and I didn't disappoint. At least I'm reliable. And, okay, maybe I should have gone back and killed him _after_ I messed her up too, but that would have ruined my dramatic exit.

I sit back and hiss in pain as my chest wound twinges.

I rub my temples. All this pain is giving me a headache.

**Adrian Martinez, District 5**

Baylyn's eyes flutter closed and I swear. As soon as the world stopped spinning I followed the path they left through the grass, but it still took me too long to get there. Baylyn's almost gone. I swear if she dies now I will never forgive myself.

I give up shouting at her. It's not helping. She's passed out. I swear more. That's not going to help either, but it makes me feel a little better.

I rip another strip off my shirt and wrap it around the cut Wesley gouged into her other arm. I growl when I think of him. Her own District partner. My jaw clenches. I'll kill him if I ever see him again. I'd chase after him right now and kill him if I didn't think Baylyn would die while I was gone.

I rip another strip of cloth, out of my pants this time, and ball it up. Another strip from the other leg and I tie it around Baylyn's head, where something cut into her head. I don't know what he did to her, but she's barely hanging-

Before I can finish my thought, Baylyn stops breathing.

I freeze for a moment. No way. Oh, please no.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do. CPR? But what if I hurt her more? But I'm pretty sure that when someone's hurt breathing's what you have to deal with first? Right? But what if I'm wrong?

"Somebody, help!" I shout, frustrated and angry. But of course I'm alone.

I pinch the bridge of Baylyn's nose and put my mouth on hers. I blow into her mouth and then out my hands on her chest. I push…five times? I grunt in frustration. I have no idea what I'm doing. I put my mouth over Baylyn's again and pump my hands over her ribs.

"Oh, just let me do it!"

Before I really know what's happening Hary Lumer has pushed me out of the way and is breathing into her mouth and pumping the heel of his palm over her chest. I swear I'm about to cry with relief. He knows what he's doing, right? He'll save her.

I'm frozen for what seems like an insanely long time before Hary sits back on his heels.

"She's breathing. Give me another bandage," he says.

I let out a shuddering breath I didn't even realize I was holding and rip off another strip from my shirt. At this rate, there's not going to be anything left of it at the end of the day, but I don't really care.

I lose track of all the ways Hary fixes Baylyn up, but there's a lot of them. Way too many. The fear that she's going to bleed to death slowly becomes the fear that we might have missed something. What if she's bleeding internally? What if she has a concussion? What if, what if, what if? I try to sit still and just do what Hary tells me, but it's hard.

"There," Hary sighs eventually. "That's all I can do without my stuff. One of the girls destroyed it all."

I sit down across from him, my hand on Baylyn's shoulder. We sit in silence for a moment, both of us watching her as her chest rises and falls painfully.

"What do you want this time?" I ask.

Hary shrugs. "I don't know. What have you got?"

"Not much anymore," I say. "We've eaten all our cornucopia food. Just my knife, really." I'm afraid what we'll do without it, but after what he's just done I don't think I could make myself gyp him out of it.

To my relief he shakes his head. "I'm no good at fighting. It's more or less worthless to me. You really don't have any more food?"

"No. We were looking for a patch of edible herbs before her District partner attacked us," I spit, fingernails digging into the ground.

"Her District partner? The things people will do," he mutters.

"She's District 1. Wesley Sawr," I tell him.

"Oh. That make sense," Hary says with a grimace.

I look him over carefully. He seems different than the last time I met him. He doesn't have the same swagger. He doesn't grind my nerves the way he used to. Of course, I may just be grateful at the moment.

"You want to show me what they look like?" He asks.

"Works for me," I say. Like before. We shake on it. The formality seems out of place here. Who cares about manners when you're surrounded by murderers?

"She going to be okay?" I ask, finally forcing myself to give voice to the fear lodged in my stomach that Baylyn still won't make it through. She has to.

Hary's brow creases. "I don't know. She was knocking on death's door when I got here. She could still go either way right now."

I frown and don't say anything. I drop my eyes from Hary's face to Baylyn on the ground in front of me.

"You want the truth, don't you?" He asks.

"Yeah. I just wish the truth could be whatever I wanted to hear," I sigh.

"Yeah. Don't we all?"

"Adrian?"

Her voice is crackly and quiet, but it's enough to wake me up like a bucket of cold water in the face. I roll over to meet Baylyn's eyes. She looks dazed and in pain, but she's awake. Hary looks over from where he's sitting on night watch and breaks out into applause. I crow in triumph and Baylyn looks at us like we're totally insane. I wrap an arm around her shoulders and give her a hug, which comes out a little awkward since we're both still lying down.

"What happened?" She croaks.

I sit up. "After Wesley beat you and you passed out, you stopped breathing," I start. "And nothing I was doing was helping and all of a sudden Hary popped out of nowhere and just started doing CPR and then he fixed you up the rest of the way and- jeez, I can't believe you're okay!" I babble. I'm so happy that I don't even care that I sound like an idiot. Baylyn smiles a little.

"And you're okay? Wesley didn't do anything else to you?" She rasps.

Hary and I look at her incredulously for a moment, before we burst out laughing.

"What?" She exclaims, croaking as loudly as she can.

"You," Hary interjects, "The girl we had to give mouth-to-mouth and rip up half of Adrian's shirt to stop from bleeding, is asking how _he's_ doing?"

Baylyn scowls at us and we only laugh harder. She rolls her eyes and grumbles something under her breath about teenage boys that I'm going to guess I wouldn't have taken as a compliment. When Hary and I finally wheeze out our last laughs we drop into silence.

"How are you feeling?" Hary asks.

"Like the stupid train from District 1 ran over me," she groans.

Hary nods. "I'm not sure if you'll heal enough to fight before the end of the Hunger Games. You're lucky you've got Adrian around."

I frown. I open my mouth to point out that the only reason she got hurt was because she stopped her District partner from slitting my throat, but Hary and Baylyn have already switched topics.

I pull my legs up and rest my forearms on my knees. Baylyn doesn't look too good. It hurts her to talk and move and…well, be awake, honestly. But she's alive and at the moment that's enough for me.

"How are you going to travel?" Hary asks.

"What?" She asks with a frown.

"Aren't you guys out of food? Adrian said you were restocking when you got attacked."

Baylyn deflates. "I…don't know. I guess I'll just have to stay here."

None of us like this idea. If Baylyn's alone, she's dead meat to an attacker. Hary's probably more worried that if she dies I won't pay him, but I hate the idea of leaving her alone. It wouldn't take much to finish her off at this point. I drum my fingers on my knee, trying to think of some other way.

"I could tell you what it looks like. You could go get it," I try.

"You still need water," Baylyn points out.

"So do you," I reply.

"We'll have to bring her with us, then," Hary sighs. "But I have to warn you, Baylyn. It'll hurt. A lot."

She nods unhappily. Hary straightens his back and resumes scanning the horizon.

"You two can go back to sleep. It's still my watch," Hary says.

I lie down again and Baylyn does the same after a moment. I put an arm around her and she scoots closer to me. I fall asleep with my arm around her waist.

I have some strange dreams tonight, none of which I remember when I wake up.

_Day 11_

**Kiteriin Fromet, District 7**

I'm barely awake. I can barely think. All my body knows to do is follow that piece of darkness that escaped me. I only got part of it. Must kill it. Have to kill it.

I follow the trail it left behind. It wasn't smart. It didn't go through someone else's trail. It's easy to follow it now.

I trudge slowly on, arms limp at my sides. I haven't slept in days. Soon I'm going to collapse. Then my knees buckle and I do. I lie on the ground. I can't make myself get up. The side of my head is lying on the trampled grasses. My eyes are open and staring like a corpse's.

I'm too afraid to go to sleep, because I'm sure that the fear will take me in my sleep. Whatever it is. My mind is adrift in a haze of exhaustion, but now that I no longer have the energy to panic, my mind feels clearer than it has in a long time. But that doesn't change the truth. I'm losing my mind.

**Surviving Contestants:**

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Hary Lumer (Hawr-ee Loo-mur)

Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: Nolaf Killt (No-lof Kilt)

District 4: Mattrick Brint (Ma-trick Brihnt)

Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: None

District 7: Kiteriin Fromet (Kit-er-een Fro-met)

District 8: Caspian Toushone (Cas-pee-in Too-shown)

Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)

District 9: None

District 10: None

District 11: Dewq Deffen (Duke Def-in)

Berra Timsing (Bare-uh Tim-zing)

District 12: None


	17. Friends and Enemies

**Chapter Sixteen  
**

**Evita Cormichael, District 4**

We're going hunting today. There were no deaths yesterday, and we took that as a rest period. Now it's time to kill.

"Honestly, my _grandmother_ moves faster than you in the morning, Evita," Eewyn complains.

"My grandmother moves a lot slower," I grumble.

"What? She get eaten by a shark or something?" She drawls back.

"…Yes," I admit.

Eewyn blinks. "Oh. Well…sorry, then."

I shrug. "I never knew the woman. It's not a big deal to me." And we go back to packing our stuff. I move a little faster though; I don't want to give Eewyn any more ammo than she already has. I still don't have much on her, though, except the way that she's always zoning out. I bug her about that when she does it, but at the moment she's determined and focused. Very efficient.

"We going to go after anyone in particular?" I ask. Eewyn chews on her cheek.

"Well, we need to take out Wesley for sure at some point. Kiteriin too, because she looked pretty wicked with that axe on the first day. Although she may just self-destruct before she can do much damage. Adrian Martinez from District 5, although we need to be careful with that one. He's smart," she decides.

"What about the boys from 11 and 8?" I ask.

"Caspian's dealing with Roe. She'll keep his hands full for us. Dewq's strong, but not aggressive. We'll have to fight well to take him out, but we don't need to worry about him trying anything on us. I'd say we just focus on finding anyone right now. We can see if some of the stronger people pick each other off first."

"Alright, you're the man," I sigh. She rolls her eyes and shoulders her pack.

"Let's head to the river. There's bound to be someone hanging around at that water source," she decrees. I shrug. As usual, I don't have a better idea, so it works for me.

We set off with reluctance. We both have the feeling that this is going to be a long and exhausting day, ending with at least one murder on our hands. I wonder at how that bothers me less than how exhausted I'll be at the end of the day. Am I a bad person? I guess I am. But I would never have done anything like this to anyone if the Capitol hadn't captured me and forced me into it. I push the issue to the back of my mind. I am a survivor. And the rest of the world had just better deal with it.

I see a bird scuttle across our recycled path through the grasses and I hold Eewyn's arm to stop her from moving and scaring it. I draw my knife and throw it and it burrows right into the bird. Not a pretty kill, but I don't care. At this point I'm just glad to have meat.

I snatch up the dead bird and grin. I can practically see Eewyn salivating from here. There's not much to hunt in the arena, and I've been _dying_ for fresh meat.

I store it in my backpack for later. Now I have a reason to keep going: Turkey dinner.

It's official. The Hunger Games have _really_ messed up my priorities.

"Alright. Let's keep going," Eewyn says with a grin.

"Somebody's in a good mood today," I mutter. Really, her perkiness is kind of annoying.

"Somebody's in a bad mood forever," she shoots back. I guess that's kind of the difference between Eewyn and me. I'm a sarcastic pessimist. She's a sarcastic optimist. But either way we're both lucky to have someone willing to put up with our remarks. I know a lot of people, well, a lot of adults, found Eewyn and me annoying. But they're all evil jerks, so I don't feel too guilty about it.

"Yeah. But being around you makes it worse," I drawl.

"Oh, haha, Evita. You know you love having me around."

"To mess with."

"You win," she chirps. I scowl and she smiles innocently. She knows that not caring will annoy me just as much as beating me.

"Whatever. Let's just keep going," I mutter. Eewyn grins and her message is clear.

_I win!_

**Mattrick Brint, District 4**

I can't say I'm _happier_ without Berra around, but I _am_ less _un_happy. If that makes sense. Which it probably doesn't. But…oh well. It makes sense to me. If it doesn't to you, then I don't really care.

I must admit, it's lonely without her. But maybe lonely is better than constantly being berated and insulted. I don't know yet. I haven't really fully experienced loneliness yet. I guess I'll get back to you on that.

I sit down at the edge of the river, dangling my feet into the water. It's not like the sea, this river. It's so much tamer, and blander. Going from the sea to a river is like being raised by wolves and then being introduced to a domestic dog. All of the personality of the sea is gone, replaced by a blank, lethargic, river.

If you couldn't tell, I miss District 4.

I've quickly discovered that there's nothing here I can make a fishing pole out of. My family's upper class, and I only got basic training. For once, being poorer actually might have made my life better.

I realize that fishing and feeding myself might not be very important for much longer when I see a figure crest the opposite bank, quite clearly holding a rather large and dangerous knife. I swear and scuttle backwards, but it's too late. I'm unarmed and they've already seen me. I run up the bank, but it's pretty steep and I've only made it halfway up when I hear a splash. I glance backward and see the person swimming towards me. Well. The sun's in my eyes and I can't make out any details, but if they're that good at swimming then they're probably from District 4. Which means that the person following me is probably Evita Cormichael, my District partner.

I don't stop running. I know she didn't like me when we took the train ride together, and that knife in her hands means business. I crest the bank and take off down a pre-made path. I run at top speed until the bank is just out of view, and then drop to my knees. I take a turn before I hear maybe-Evita scrambling up the bank. I'm suddenly grateful for the loose dirt and gravel that make going up the riverbank a slow, loud affair.

I flatten myself down on my stomach, hoping against hoe that Evita can't see me. She's close enough now that she's almost sure to hear me if I try to crawl anywhere, but if I stay still I might slip under her radar. Maybe. I hope.

The scrambling noise stops. I hold my breath. I can hear Maybe-Evita's footsteps coming forward, but I can't tell if she actually knows where I am or if she's moving forward because she's not an idiot and realizes that since I'm not in view, I must have tried to run.

I press myself down as flat as I possibly can against the ground. A new fear knots my stomach. What if she doesn't know I'm here, but finds me just by walking right over me? I clench my jaw. _Stick it out, Mattrick. There's nothing you can do about it now; if you move she'll hear you_.

I close my eyes. At this point sight is really of no use to me, and it's easier to have my eyes closed. Maybe it's my if-I-can't-see-her-she-can't-see-me reflex kicking in, not that it really applies here. But there's something instinctively comforting about closing my eyes. A last-ditch effort at staying calm.

"Found you," I hear, and I know for sure it's Evita now. I spring to my feet and take off. I glance behind myself and see her facing the complete wrong direction. She whips around as soon as she hears my first footfall and I swear. She knew that I couldn't see past the grasses and wouldn't realize that she was bluffing; she tricked me out of my hiding place.

It's too late now, so I just run. But I'm about a foot shorter than Evita, who's pretty dang tall. The effect? Shorter legs, slower speed. She's gaining quickly. Maybe I can out-maneuver her.

I turn abruptly to the left. Evita follows without difficulty. No go on that. And I don't have time to try anything else, because her fingers close around the collar of my shirt. She stops abruptly and the shirt is yanked against my windpipe. I choke painfully and stumble.

Evita's knees slam onto my back.

"Sorry," she mutters, and stabs me in the back.

I guess this is it, then. I'm done. I don't blame Evita; she didn't want to be here. I hope my parents are alright. And you know what? I'm almost afraid at how certain I am that they will be. They'll just shove my death into a corner and hide behind their faith in the Capitol the way they always do. The way I always do. Is that wrong? I don't know, and I'm out of time to think it over.

**Adrian Martinez, District 5**

Baylyn doesn't say anything, but I can practically hear the swear words she's thinking.

We're making slow progress. Hary and I are taking turns supporting Baylyn. At first we tried to hold her up with one of us on both sides , but we were off rhythm and almost fell over. And since Baylyn's practically dead weight, we have to switch off almost every fifteen minutes. I would be able to go for longer, but I'm pretty sure I'm dehydrating.

"Your turn," Hary grunts. He does pretty well for a fifteen-year-old kid. I nod and loop Baylyn's arm around my neck. I've spent a lot of time supporting her this way, too much time, and we find our old rhythm immediately.

"How much longer?" Hary wheezes. Baylyn's skinny, especially after being half-starved for more than a week in the arena, but she's tall. It always takes a while to catch your breath after carrying her.

"At this rate? Too long," I huff. Baylyn whimpers a little as her foot hits a rock. "Sorry," I grumble, frustrated.

"Not your fault," she manages through clenched teeth. She's toughing it out. The first time we tried to stand her up she passed out; now I'm sure she's not far from it. I'm surprised she has been able to stay conscious this whole trip, but my guess is she feels the way I do: dry tongue, head swimming, nauseous. Basically, dying slowly. Or, not so slowly. I don't know how well we'll be functioning by this time tomorrow if we don't get water. There's a fine balance between going too slowly and not getting to the river and going too fast and losing time when Baylyn passes out from pain. I grit my teeth. Even now that she managed not to bleed to death, Wesley is still killing her. I don't know if I'll see him again in this arena, but if I do I'll kill him. I'm almost surprised by the venom packed into that thought, but I'm not the kind to sit around quietly while the people I love are hurt. And Baylyn is definitely hurt. Wesley needs to be dealt with.

"Where did you see…whatever kind of plant it is?" Hary asks. "'The river' is awfully unspecific."

"Big bend in the river. I'll know it when I see it," I huff.

"How? They all look pretty much the same to me," Hary says skeptically.

"Photographic memory," Baylyn and I say at the same time. I smile at her and she smiles back weakly, but the effect is kind of ruined by the way her entire body is quivering with exhaustion. I feel my stomach sink. I don't think she's going to make it.

Hary doesn't look quite convinced, but I don't have breath to waste debating with him.

If Baylyn can't get to the river, I have no idea what I'm going to do. She's too beat up to just drag, and leaving her behind is so far out of the question that it's not even worth the time it takes to think about it. Carry her, I guess, but I'm dehydrated and Hary's not strong enough. The fingers of my free hand tap against my leg. I guess I'll just have to deal with that when I come to it. Oh well.

We walk in silence except for Baylyn's small hisses of pain. It seems like we're going for a long time, but the walk is dull and painful, and it probably seems like it takes a lot longer than it actually does. But there's almost something comforting in the numbing length of our walk. I focus but hear nothing, see nothing. It's just us. We may not be enjoying ourselves, but no one else is threatening us at the moment. The solitude feels nice. We're by no means "safe" but it's quiet enough for us to breath for once.

The arena almost all looks the same, especially now that the hilly area has disappeared over the distorted curvature of the earth. I still know where I'm going, but Hary seems pretty anxious. Sure enough he turns to me and asks, "Are you sure we're going the right direction?"

I nod. I already explained this to him. If he doesn't believe me then that's just too bad.

"Are you sure? Because I thought-"

"Look. If we hadn't been able to find our way back to the river, we would have died from dehydration a long time ago, right?"

"Well, yes. But maybe you just got lucky."

"Believe me or don't believe me. I don't care," I answer tiredly. Hary frowns a little, but shuts up. I have the feeling that he's not going to be happy just following us around without proof that we're accomplishing anything for much longer. But I'll just have to wait and see, and if worst comes to worst I don't think I'll have any trouble taking him in a fight. I'm pretty sure he's as useless at fighting as he says he is; I'm almost always able to tell when people are lying. He's unarmed, I think. I can't for the life of me imagine where he might be hiding anything bigger than a switchblade.

I glance at Hary out of the corner of my eye. If I need to, I'll kill him.

My fingers pause a bit in their rhythm against the side of my leg. I'll kill Hary and anyone else if they threaten us. It's an almost scary thought. I've effectively closed down all the doors into my heart. The people I care about will stay there, but anyone new will be hard-pressed to get in. At least, anyone in the Games.

I shrug it off. It's not unreasonable to fight in self-defense. And that's all I plan on doing. As long as Hary leaves us alone we'll do the same for him, just like we did for Roe and Caspian. And if he doesn't…well, he's smarter than that, anyway. It won't be a problem. I hope.

We keep on without stopping for lunch since we're out of food. I switch off with Hary a couple of times, before the riverbank rises abruptly up from the distorted land curvature. Baylyn just about sobs with relief. It seems like it takes hours to get Baylyn slowly down the side of the bank and to the edge of the water. I scoop up a handful, but give up on looking civilized almost immediately and just stick my face in the water. How can something tasteless taste so good?

**Roe Tamden, District 8**

Uh, Caspian says that we're getting pretty far in now and we need be more careful. He's pretty cranky and I dunno why. The sky is pretty. He's walking back to the river I think and I'm supposed to follow him I think.

Oh. There's a rabbit. I follow the bunny 'cause it's cute.

"Roe!" He says and he's quiet but doesn't sound too happy. Yeah. "What are you doing _now_?"

"Bunny," I say.

"You're doing…bunny?"

"Following bunny."

"Oh," he say. Then he say, "Come on. We need to get back to a water source."

"Uhh…yeah, But bunny is cute," I say following it.

"Seriously?" He grumbles and he doesn't sound happy but bunny is cute.

"Follow bunny with me he's cute!" I say and run off.

"Roe! Get down and be quiet!" Caspian hisses because he's a grumpy but I keep running. I don't like grumpies and I think Cute Bunny might make Caspian less grumpy. Then we'll be happy when he's not grumpy.

I can't see where Cute Bunny ran but I keep going 'cause I think I can find him. I skip over a rock and keep running and running. I can run for a while but not too fast because I'm short and Caspian is catching up to me so I run faster. He says a naughty word and runs fasterer. It's kind of fun to run like it's a game. But not the Bad Games. The fun kind.

I giggle but Caspian gets my wrist and pulls.

"W-what do you think…you're doing?" He pants all angry.

"Having fun chasing Cute Bunny for a fun game," I say and he look at me funny. His mouth opens-closes a couple times and he blinks a little. He's funny he shake his head and says, "Um…right. Let's just go, Roe. Please?"

"Uhh…okay, but won't Cute Bunny be lonely?" I ask sitting down. Caspian pulls me to my feet and his hand is too tight on my arm.

"No, Roe. I'm pretty sure Cute Bunny will be happier if we leave her alone."

"Cute Bunny is a boy. You don't even know him," I pout.

"Just…trust me on this one, okay?"

And Caspian doesn't even wait before he pull me off. Yeah.

**Surviving Contestants:**

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Hary Lumer (Hawr-ee Loo-mur)

Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: Nolaf Killt (No-lof Kilt)

District 4: Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: None

District 7: Kiteriin Fromet (Kit-er-een Fro-met)

District 8: Caspian Toushone (Cas-pee-in Too-shown)

Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)

District 9: None

District 10: None

District 11: Dewq Deffen (Duke Def-in)

Berra Timsing (Bare-uh Tim-zing)

District 12: None


	18. Nolaf

**A/N**- People, we just cracked 100 reviews. You guys are so, incredibly awesome. I wouldn't be able to sit down at the computer and pound out these chapters if it wasn't for the thought of you guys waiting I love you all. :3

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Nolaf Killt, District 9**

I'm invisible. I always have been. People tend to walk right by me. Even among my family members I tend to sort of sink into the background. They spend more time doting on my younger sister, Daine. Even I have to admit she's more interesting than I am. She's exactly a year younger than me, and pretty much perfect. Pretty, smart, just bold enough to get everyone's attention but not enough that she says stupid things and gets herself in trouble. She's got more friends, she's better at sports, she's got a better sense of humor than I do. Yes, everyone's a bigger Daine fan than they are a Nolaf fan.

But it's okay, really. I mean, I'm used to disappearing. I can't remember ever getting a lot of attention, and you don't miss what you've never known, right? Yeah, it would be nice to have someone think that _I _was the special one for once, but I'll live. I've done okay so far.

Actually, when I was first reaped, I admit there was a stupid, petty little part of me that was kind of glad. That was kind of hopeful that now my parents would finally need to turn their eyes to me instead of Daine. And you know what? For a minute there, they _almost_ did.

They ran in, sobbing hard. They may not show it much, but they love me. They're my parents. They wrapped me up in their arms and they were saying…something. I couldn't catch much of it. Dad looked pained, and mom was just a teary wreck. And Daine followed them in more slowly. She was trying to be strong, I could see. Her arms were stiff at her sides and her hands were clamped into fists. Her chin was shaking in that funny way it has when she's trying not to cry. Her lips were pressed together tightly and her eyes were wide. It actually looked kind of funny. I might have laughed, if not for the fact that, well…you know.

She wrapped her arms around my neck, and then she couldn't help it anymore. She started crying. And almost immediately my parents let go of me and it was, "Oh Daine, don't cry! Shh, shh."

I almost hated them for a moment. But it passed just as quickly as it came. It was replaced with a sense of rueful acceptance. Nothing ever changes, so why should this? And they loved me. They may have been…obtuse to how ignored I felt, but they loved me.

Daine was horrified. She tried to shake her head, tried to pull away, but my parents didn't notice. Daine looked at me miserably, shuddering with tears. She thought I would blame her. But I didn't. I never have. I don't even really blame people for paying more attention to Daine than me. She _is_ more interesting than I am, even I know that. And besides, she's really my best friend, and who can hate their best friend for getting more attention than them?

I never saw much of Daine at school, because she was always with her huge gang of friends that I found pretty intimidating, or busy with one of her school groups. No, our time together was when we were supposed to be trying to go to sleep. We'd shared a room in our small house for our entire lives. Some of my earliest memories are climbing over into Daine's bed and whispering, which is considerably louder when you're a toddler than when you're a teenager. We thought we were so sneaky, but we got caught all the time. Now we can go for months without our parents suspecting anything.

We talk for at least two hours every night. Well, Daine does most of the talking to be honest. Her days are significantly more eventful than mine, I've found. But she starts the talking and I comment and ask questions. I add something as much as I can. It's our little nighttime ritual. I miss it, and her, a lot.

But strangely enough, there's an upside to all this. I _am_ on national television. The whole country watched me be reaped, driven around on a chariot, and interviewed. I assume I've gotten some footage, although probably not a lot. I haven't been very interesting. For once, Nolaf Killt has been in the spotlight. Of course, I'm also going to die, so there's always a cloud to go with that pretty silver lining.

I wonder how much I've been on screen. Maybe when I was singing to keep myself occupied. My voice is pretty good. Maybe when I went to the river on the first day. I didn't even mean to make my grand discovery. All I knew was that I needed water. So water it was.

It was kind of a long walk. Or, crawl, rather. Maybe that was why it seemed to take forever to get there. But it was worth it. When I got to the riverbank I slid down and took a long drink. Nice and cool. I was kind of hot and sweaty after my long crawl, so I climbed into the water. I just sort of floated around for a while, but then I put my swimming lessons to work. I dove down. It was a relatively deep river, so I made a game of swimming all the way down to the bottom and getting rocks or plants or whatever from the bottom. I must have done that for about a half an hour before I heard someone approaching. I panicked. There was nowhere for me to hide. I shoved my collection of rocks back into the water because they had obviously been brought up by someone on purpose and dived down after them.

It was kind of an…ethereal experience, swimming down through the cerulean water amid a cloud of sinking stones, my heart hammering away. Of course, I had no idea what I was supposed to do once I reached the bottom. Chances were it would be deep enough and murky enough from my swimming that they wouldn't be able to see me. Or at least, not clearly enough to identify that I was a person and not an oddly shaped log. But the sad truth was I was still doomed. I didn't expect them to walk down, get a drink, and then immediately turn around and leave. And if they didn't I'd have to come up for air and they'd find me anyway.

I wrapped my hands around a stubby broken nub of a branch sticking off of a log imbedded half into the silt at the bottom of the river. I looked around frantically for a way out, and then I saw either my doom or my salvation.

The mouth of a cave opened in the side of the bank. At least, I thought it was a cave. I couldn't see very well. I pushed off of the log with my feet, propelling myself towards the maybe-cave, ignoring the beginning of a tickle in the bottom of my lungs. I grasped the edge of the mouth with both hands to keep myself from floating back towards the surface. I had two choices.

A.) Swim down the river and hope I got out of sight before the silt settled enough for whoever it was to see me, or

B.) Swim in through the mouth of a mysterious cave, in a place where everything has been specifically designed to kill me.

Oh, there was always C, which was swim back up to the top and probably be brutally murdered, but I never even considered that one. Much.

I had to choose fast. The silt was already settling, and without it even the depth of the river probably wouldn't save me. So I let go of the cave and swum forward.

It was dark in the mouth of the cave. I couldn't see anything. Literally. The tickle in my lungs grew, pulling at the edges of my focus more and more, soon becoming an ache. I started to feel panic clouding my mind again. I was going to suffocate.

Abruptly I bumped against a wall of rock. I smacked my head pretty good on that thing, and practically broke my finger. The good news? I hit it with enough force that it swung inward. I pulled myself through it desperately and my head broke the surface of the water in the next room and I sucked in air. Beautiful, beautiful air.

I kicked the rock wall closed, gasping for breath and pulled myself up onto the sandy ledge at the edge of the pool I was treading water in, greedily gasping for breath. I dragged myself across the sound with a slosh and collapsed with my legs still most of the way in the water. The sand stuck all over my wet body and uniform, but I just didn't care.

After a minute I quieted my breathing enough to realize that I could hear the person who had surprised me. I froze in fresh terror. Had they heard me gasping like a dying animal? Were they looking for me right now? But no. They didn't seem to have noticed. I huffed in relief and went limp for another couple of minutes, letting my poor overworked heart slow down. Before long, I heard another set of footsteps echo around my little cave. I realized I couldn't just hear everything going on up above (somehow), but I could hear it all _really, really well_.

"Who's there?" Snapped a voice. There was a brief pause and the person, a girl, continued. "Oh. Oh, it's you. Good. For a minute there I was worried."

"I don't worry you?" Asked another girl's voice sarcastically.

There was a brief pause, as if Mystery Girl #1 was considering this question, before she replied with a chipper, "Nope. Not really."

Someone, probably Mystery Girl #2, snorted. "And why not? Maybe you _should_ be afraid of me."

"First off," came the voice of Girl #1, "There's a difference between _afraid_, and _worried_-"

"No there's not."

"And second off- is second off even a word? - Anyway, second off, it's a little hard to be afraid or even worried about someone I call Evita Nottoyou."

So Mystery Girl #2 wasn't a mystery anymore, She was Evita, that kind of freaky girl from District 4.

"So you still haven't figured out my last name?"

"No," the first girl snorts, "Haven't bothered."

"It's Cormichael."

"And your point is?"

"I thought you wanted to know."

"…Nope, not really."

I could practically hear the small smile on Evita's face. "All right then. Tell me yours so we're on even ground."

"Carre."

"Alright then."

There was a pause. Even I began to feel a little awkward.

"So…Allies then, Eewyn?" Asks Evita.

There was another pause and I figured Eewyn was either nodding or shrugging or shaking her head or something.

"Sure, I guess," Eewyn said.

They milled around for a little while, talking and filling up water bottles. They didn't say anything much, really. I forgot most of it pretty quickly. It was a pretty inauspicious start to their alliance.

They left soon after that, and I was alone again. As always.

Not that I didn't know anybody back home. I did, but I just was never with them. I might exchange a word or two in the hallway with one of the kids I recognized from class, but that was it. I don't know why I never really sat down with someone at lunch. Too shy, I guess. I should have tried harder, though; I really had no excuse. But oh well. Nobody will ever forget me now.

I wonder what they're all thinking back there. I wonder if they feel guilty for not noticing me more before. Maybe they're just glad it was me and not someone who really mattered to them. I don't really care because I know that either way the people that are truly important to me care about me. I'm sure they do. In their own way, they care.

I wonder if they got a little eavesdropping thrill the way I did when they knew I was listening to everything that was going on above. It felt kind of nice, actually. To just be in my own little word, listening and watching as the people above went by. Like I was back home being invisible in the normal way and that everything was perfectly fine and typical. I felt like a mischievous little kid again, like that day on my birthday when I snuck down and opened my present before any of you woke up. Of course, I did get caught then. But now I was truly invisible, and I liked it. I was privy to everyone's secrets. And I mean _everyone's_. There was something about this bend in the river. It drew people. I wonder if the Gamemakers did that on purpose. Like, used some sort of pheromones or something to make this place more attractive. I dismissed the thought, because it's just too creepy and too possible.

To be honest, it's almost hard to regret the Games sometimes. I had not all that much at home, so going to this strange and dangerous place would almost be fun if I weren't afraid of being murdered at any given moment. That really puts a damper on the mood for some reason,

It's become less and less fun as the days have gone by. I can't see much in here even with the light filtering down somehow. Some probably very unnatural how. But even if I could, there's not all that much to look at. Black rock, slippery in places from water and slimy algae. Pale tan sand scattered through with gray pebbles. Ratty plants climbing the walls. A lot of the time I'll just lie back and listen to the lapping of the water. I haven't dared leave to go swimming, although I did check the slab of rock I entered through and it's not locked. But I've controlled myself carefully and resisted the temptation to go out; except for the time I retrieved my pack, after Eewyn and Evita left. Luckily enough, I had the good sense to hide that before I started playing my game with the rocks. The swim ruined my loaf of bread, but I still ate the soggy pile of slop it became. It was gross, but I'd rather be grossed out than starve to death. I was really lucky to pull probably the single most well-stocked-with-food pack in the arena. I know others have had trouble with hunger, just like last year's tributes. I shudder a little. It was a nightmare, watching them waste away. I think it would be worse to starve peacefully than just be killed by another kid. At least being knifed would be fast.

Fast or peaceful? Both would be terrible, so I pick fast.

It'd be nice if we actually got to just choose, but things don't work that way.

Sometimes we can dodge it for a while though. Probably the most excitement (read: danger and terror) I've had the whole time was when that Roe girl ticked off that giant squid. I don't know where the thing came from. I was in the middle of one of my many, many, naps and I heard a splash. I immediately pressed myself up against the wall, still groggy from sleeping, and something sloshed down the tunnel. The squid propelled itself through the water under my ledge, faint and pinkish in the dim light. Its front end disappeared into the darkness, but the body kept coming. As soon as that stopped, the tentacles. The thing was huge.

I could hear the District 8 boy shouting for Roe, and I had the sinking feeling I knew what had happened to her. The thing had gotten her. And then the other two showed up, and the boy dove in. I could hear a girl and a boy, their allies, shouting. But I couldn't understand what they were actually saying for the life of me. And then the squid sucked itself back under the ledge. I could hear the deathly silence from above, but down here it was thrashing and roaring. I don't know whether the roaring was normal or not. I pressed myself as far back against the wall as I could, heart pounding. Abruptly it threw itself back down the tunnel. I figured that the kids it snagged were gone, but after a moment I heard triumphant whooping from the bank and the boy complaining about someone throwing a knife at him.

They laid on the bank for about half an hour, chatting cautiously, before two of them split. The others were there for another couple of minutes, before they left too. I didn't blame them. This was a risky spot to hang out. Unless you were me, of course.

I heard Evita and Eewyn come back. It was a short visit. Evita barked that she was going after someone and disappeared. Eewyn sat down and waited. After less than ten minutes Evita came back, reported tersely that the person she had chased was dead, and filled up her water bottle. Eewyn didn't ask any questions. A creeping feeling slipped up my spine, cold and unpleasant. Eewyn had seemed nice. Sarcastic, but intelligent and outgoing. Evita had seemed like any other angry young teenager who stomped around and hated their life. From the way they made conversation, they hadn't changed much. But the bottom line, the ugly truth, was that these girls were killers. I plugged my ears childishly and waited for them to leave.

But even I eventually faced death in my little cave. Despite my careful rationing and large quantities, my food ran out. And the next morning I finally made myself leave my cave.

I'm used to being ignored. And now after all the time I spent hidden away, I'm used to solitude. I'm accustomed to listening to others, never seeing, never touching. Which is perhaps why it's so disturbing now to feel Wesley's weight pin me down, and his knife pierce into my back.

I've been hidden almost all of my life. I've been invisible. And now I'm dying and I know everyone in Panem is watching me. I'm not sure whether or not I'm glad to finally be seen. Before I choose, I fade away. And I'm alone again.

**Surviving Contestants:**

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Hary Lumer (Hawr-ee Loo-mur)

Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: None

District 4: Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: None

District 7: Kiteriin Fromet (Kit-er-een Fro-met)

District 8: Caspian Toushone (Cas-pee-in Too-shown)

Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)

District 9: None

District 10: None

District 11: Dewq Deffen (Duke Def-in)

Berra Timsing (Bare-uh Tim-zing)

District 12: None


	19. Paintings on the Walls

**Chapter Eighteen**

**Evita Cormichael, District 4**

_Day 12_

Apparently, the District 3 boy is dead. I didn't remember him at all. Eewyn just recognized him. I haven't seen him at all in the arena, so I figure he's just been laying low. Probably a smart idea on his part, but apparently not quite smart enough. I sigh. No matter how much I may be defending myself, I get this heavy feeling in my stomach whenever I see another face in the sky. I sit down and roll over on my stomach. I'm supposed to be taking night watch, but Eewyn's not asleep yet so I really don't need to worry about it.

"Hey, why the long face? You look even uglier when you pout, you know," she says, a usually snarky half-smile on her face.

I shrug. "People are dying. I'm killing some of them. What do you expect?"

Eewyn's raised eyebrow lowers and she nods. "Oh. I see. Well, never mind. Look as ugly as you want, then."

I look at her. "Are we bad people?"

Her eyebrows scrunch in together and the corners of her mouth turn down thoughtfully. I don't know why I feel the need to ask her, but I do. I guess Eewyn's always been the one making choices for us. Maybe I'm just so used to acting on her word, that if she says now that the things we do are okay, I'll be able to just believe her and keep doing what I'm doing.

"Yes and no," she says finally. "I'm not sure. I mean, we're doing bad things. Really bad. But I don't think either of us would ever even consider doing something like this if we weren't trapped here. If our lives didn't depend on it. And I don't like what we're doing, but it's necessary. I think we're bad people, but not by choice. And it's the Gamemakers and the Capitol who are the worst. But yes, we're bad."

I fold my arms in front of me and rest my chin on them. So. We're bad, are we? I guess I know that for sure now. I'd always suspected that. So…what do I do with this new sureness? I guess I have two choices. I can turn everything around, try to make up for the things I've done. Or I can give up trying to delude myself into thinking the things I do are excusable.

The real question it comes down to is this: Do I want a legacy? Or do I want a chance at my life?

I think of all the people back home. All my brothers and sisters, most of who are younger than me. Can I leave them behind knowing what an evil person I turned out to be? Or should I try to change now, before it's too late for me?

I can't. I can't sacrifice myself. I'm not strong enough. And so I will kill.

I dig my fingernails into the dirt in front of me, feeling the grit be pushed up under my already filthy nails. I look at my hands, wondering if this is some sort of big, cosmic symbol. Back in District 4 I may have done some hard work, but I was in the water most of the time. I was always clean. But now in here, my hands are dirty. Not just with mud and dirt, but with murder.

I turn my hands over, looking at the palms. They're the same hands I know under all the grime. They're big and muscular, like all of me. They're tough and scarred from work. They're still my hands. And I'm still Evita. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Does this mean there's still a chance, that there's always a chance? That no matter how far into darkness you go, all you need is the strength within yourself to turn your back towards being a good person and making reparations? Or does it mean that this sort of violence was something I was always capable of? That this is a disgusting but permanent part of who I am? I don't know.

I glance at Eewyn. She seems to be the same as she always is, cool and calm, with a thoughtful but vague expression on her face. She's sitting up, her legs crossed, looking at the moon. I wonder if she's bothered by our killing. She must be. I know her pretty well by now, and she's not the vicious type. Bratty and sarcastic, but not vicious. I guess I need to say, that even though I know her pretty well, I by no means understand the girl. I don't know if anybody really does understand her. I'm pretty sure that there's more to Eewyn than I know. Than she chooses to show anyone.

Maybe I should feel offended that I'm pretty sure that my friend isn't completely open with me. But I don't. That's just who Eewyn is, so I have to accept that. Otherwise I'm not being much of a friend. Still, I have to wonder what she really thinks about what's going on. Maybe she's more upset than she lets on. That could be bad. If something goes wrong with her, I'm in trouble. I'm a doer, not a planner. I need her around to give me some direction. And I appreciate the company, if not the remarks made by said company. I've almost always had some sibling with me, and to be completely alone just wouldn't feel right. Not that I wouldn't mind being around someone who wasn't always insulting me, but oh well. You take what you can get, right? Beggars can't be choosers. And I'm not exactly charming. I guess I hand Eewyn at least as many comments as I take, so maybe I shouldn't be complaining. But I hardly care.

"What do you miss most about home?" I ask abruptly. Eewyn doesn't even look at me, or think about it.

"Being comfortable. I miss having food, and a bed, and being warm. I miss not being afraid," she says calmly, like she's talking about the weather. No, even more mundane than the weather. Like she's informing me that she has blond hair or something.

"You never look very afraid," I say and she shrugs.

"You don't have to look something to be feeling it. And just because you look a certain way doesn't mean that's actually how you feel."

I nod. I understand what she means. It's pretty straightforward. And a good point. "But what's the point of hiding your emotions here? I mean, it's not like anyone would mock you for being afraid right now."

"I don't want to be afraid," she answers, "Strength is what I need to survive this. But the kind of strength I need is the kind that destroys people, maybe me. So I just try not to feel much of anything. Not choosing is the best I can do right now."

I feel a little guilt leak into my stomach. Eewyn is at least _trying _to avoid giving into the darkness of violence completely. I'm not. But I shove it to the side. That's all well and good, but she's just as responsible for the things I did as I am. It was all under her direction. If she had told me to hold back, I would have, just like on that day we found the boy tied to the tree. I perform the killing, but Eewyn's the one who makes the decision to kill. Anything she says about trying to keep her morals intact is a lot of rubbish. That's the big decision you need to make in the Hunger Games: Your life or the way you live it.

"Do you miss your family?" I ask, noticing they didn't make the top three things she missed about home.

"Well, obviously," she snorts. "Don't you?"

"Of course. I miss all of them. _All_, all of them," I sigh.

"Big family, then?" Eewyn asks.

"Huge. Two older siblings and five younger ones," I reply. Her eyebrows raise.

"_Nine _of you? Wow."

"Yeah," I reply. "Kind of a nightmare to get dinner on the table ever day. If our District was any poorer it wouldn't have been possible. But we aren't, so it was. Even though all of us had to work our butts off to do it."

"What did you do, back home?" She asks.

I shrug. "The normal. I was a fisher girl."

"What kind of fishing?" Eewyn asks blandly. It's weird to have such a normal (actually, downright boring) conversation in the arena. But here we are, so I just go with it.

"Again, just normal. Taking a boat out to where the fish population is large and dropping a net. How about you?"

"I've never gone fishing in my life, Evita."

"No, not fishing, Genius! What do you do back in District 2?"

She looks at me from the corner of her eye and then focuses back on the moon. "I go to school. I'm enough of a genius not to need to go to work yet."

"I take it your family doesn't have any money problems, then?" I answer.

"No, not really. We're upper-middle class."

"Well, lucky you," I snap.

She rolls her eyes. "Look, I'm really sorry your family is poor, Evita, but it's not my fault."

I shrug. True, but I can still be jealous. "Well, even if I don't come back, they'll have one less mouth to feed, I suppose."

Eewyn doesn't protest or encourage me. We're realistic if nothing else. We're strong, but it's impossible to say we're going to survive this for sure. I'd say we're probably second or third on the likely-to-win list. My guess is Wesley Sawr is even stronger than me, and undoubtedly stronger than Eewyn. But I think I can beat him, maybe. I'm smarter.

"Well, I don't know what my parents will do if I don't survive. I love them, but they have lives beyond me. They'll pick up the pieces and keep moving on, I'm sure," Eewyn says thoughtfully. Then she smiles.

"Hi, Mom! Hi Dad! Look at me, I'm on TV!" She calls jokingly up to the sky, waving in a very cheesy way. I snort.

"Well, you going to say anything?" She asks me. I raise my eyebrows and take a deep breath.

"Hi Mom. Hi, Dad. Hi, Vester. Hi, Linzy. Hi, Breela. Hi, Tormac. Hi, Shesanna. Hi, Imril. Hi, Reish," I finally finish.

"Wow," says Eewyn, "there really are a lot of you Cormichaels, aren't there?"

"Told you so," I say lightly, "No real reason to lie about something like that, is there?"

"Viewer sympathy," Eewyn suggests. I snort.

"I don't want their pity. They're the ones who did this to me. Their pity isn't worth jacksquat."

Eewyn nods, "Amen to that!"

**Dewq Deffen, District 11**

I press myself down against the hill as tightly as I can. I'm not sure what's wrong with the blond girl scrambling around my hills, but something obviously is. She can't even climb up some of the steeper hills without falling off and making this strange bleating noise. I wonder if she's gone and eaten something like Murk Fascia did last year, or gone insane after killing someone like Aria Lymann. I didn't memorize the deaths last year like I'm doing now, but I remember hers. She wandered around like some animal for days and days until she got into a fight and ended up falling to her death off of a cliff. It was horrible, but to be honest it was worse to see her alive, insane, and suffering than it was to see her dead. At least she wasn't crying when she was dead. And that's what the white-blond girl here reminds me of: Aria Lyemann before she was thrown off a cliff.

I could try to approach whoever that is, but I hesitate. It would jeapordize my noninterference. Besides, I don't even know what kind of crazy person she is. She could be just vulnerable and pathetic like I see now, or she could turn out to be incredibly violent. It all depends, and so I'd better not risk it.

Of course, as soon as I decide this, I try to scoot further away and cause a small rockslide.

Her head snaps toward the sound, matted hair framing a pale, dirty face and rabid hazel eyes.

Oh, yep. Definitely violent.

She charges up the hill with a howl, now with speed and purpose instead of that pathetic zombie stumble, and I jump backwards, scrambling painfully down the hill. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_! I can't believe it. After all this time of successfully hiding out in the most dangerous and obvious of spots, I helped another kid catch me. Just plain stupid!

I turn and run on a slightly sore ankle; I must have turned it on my hasty roll down the hill. I can hear the girl screaming behind me and I indulge in a loud swear word. If anybody is in earshot, they already know where we are, thanks to her. A little bad word can't hurt anything at this point. Except maybe to offend my grandmother. She was always pretty uptight, but somehow I think I'm going to be forgiven this one time.

I barrel around hills instead of over them, hoping to outpace the much smaller girl. I'm not having much luck, though. Whatever has possessed her has done a good job of it. She's fast.

The one thing I'm most afraid of is tripping. If I do, chances are she'll be on me before I can get up. I don't know if she's armed, but if she's as strong as she is fast I wouldn't get away unscathed.

I try to avoid thinking about it, though, and just repeat _Keep running, keep running, keep running _over and over again in my head.

I do a double take as I run past another hill. I may have lived here for the last week and a half, but I've never done any exploring. And that trapdoor in the side of that hill is certainly new to me. I stop abruptly, mind racing. It's way too obvious. It must have some ulterior purpose for being there. But...do I have any choice? I'm already getting tired, and whatever insanity fuels her doesn't seem to be running out. And maybe someone in her state won't even notice it. I decide I just have to chance it and I dive in.

I don't bother to stop running, but shut the door and run down the dark hallway. Now I do trip over something lying on the floor, but I get up and keep running. I hear the door swing open behind me, followed by that familiar bellowing, and my heart falls. It didn't work. Now all I can do is keep running.

A bit of light slowly begins to filter into the tunnel as I run, and more and more objects snap under my feet. I begin to get the sinking feeling that they're bones. My stomach heaves. Stupid, cliché, but nonetheless horrifying.

I take a turn as soon as I can, but Crazy must be following the sound of my footsteps because she stays right on me. I put on an extra burst of speed, turning and weaving as much as I possibly can.

And I run straight into a dead end.

I'm knocked right backwards, onto my butt. My head spins for a moment, sore from hitting the rock wall. The lights burst on, and I stifle a shout of fear. They are bones, the cracking things underfoot, but that's not what's shocked me. It the pictures painted on the walls.

It's us kids. All of us. All of us dying a hundred different horrifying death. I see myself being eaten by animals I've never even heard of before, burning alive, and apparently committing suicide. I see Berra coughing up blood, and some girl who appears to be my attacker crushed under a huge boulder. My eyes flicker over the wall, horribly entranced, and I see the gruesome figures continue all the way back down the hall I came in through. As far as I can see, they never stop. No two deaths are the same. My spine crawls. The idea that so much creativity could go into death is terrifying. And grossly hypnotic.

I've turned all the way around in my attempt to look at the walls, so I see the girl as she slowly labors through the door. She doesn't seem to be in any hurry now. Because we're trapped in here.

She slowly picks up two bones from the floor, one for each hand. I shakily do the same, but I know how this is going to turn out. And it's not well.

**Kiteriin Fromet, District 7**

Helping- it's...it's not helping.

I pound my head against the wall again and again. I keep trying to kill it but it won't leave me alone, the darkness in my mind. It won't go away as much as I try. I'm beginning to wonder if it's going to be here forever. I can't face that. So I try to smash it out of my head against this wall.

Get out.

Get out.

Get out.

The body lies on the floor, his head bashed in. The figures about me die over and over again, and the darkness is pushing me tighter and tighter into a tiny point in my mind, claustrophobic and panicking.

I shake in horror and pain as the darkness moves my arms up, hands gouging out my eyes. I scream, but I'm powerless to stop my fingers as they scrape me blind. I cry pitifully and redouble my efforts, pain splitting through my skull as I slam my head harder and harder against the stone wall. I just want it out, out, but it presses up against me. I can't see it swirl in front of me anymore, but I can feel it. It's going to break me one way or the other. I howl, tears spilling out of my eyes and drowning in fear. I collapse, my head in so much pain, so much.

I have to escape before it erases me forever. I slash at my own wrists with my broken nails and slowly begin to bleed. I open them up wider and wider and run away into that lovely black unfeelingness, chased by the darkness inside.

**Surviving Contestants:**

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Hary Lumer (Hawr-ee Loo-mur)

Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: None

District 4: Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: None

District 7: None

District 8: Caspian Toushone (Cas-pee-in Too-shown)

Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)

District 9: None

District 10: None

District 11: Berra Timsing (Bare-uh Tim-zing)

District 12: None


	20. Happy Birthday

**A/N**- Quick note: Did anyone else realize Azin (like the president's name) is Nazi with the N at the end? Totally did not do that on purpose. My subconscious is a funny place...

**Chapter Nineteen**

**Adrian Martinez, District 5**

_Day 13_**  
**

"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Adrian. Happy birthday to you."

It's the happy birthday that catches me off guard. It's just so…normal that it tricks my brain into thinking everything is normal for a minute. It feels like I'm back home, with one of my parents or Lier trying to shake me awake, singing in their best attempt to make up for having to drag me out of bed so early on my birthday. I mumble a little and try to go back to sleep, the way I do every morning, but my ankle hits a rock when I roll over and I remember I'm not just lounging around in bed. It is not Lier shaking me awake. I'm not going to scarf down breakfast and run to school. Not even close.

I'm never going to complain about waking up early on my birthday ever again. Not a chance. And that's assuming I even have another birthday, which is not as probable as I'd like.

I swear and sit up groggily, rubbing my ankle. My vision swims for a second in front of the one eye I've managed to force open and Baylyn comes into focus, propped up on her elbows, smiling as much as she really can at the moment. Hary's up too, although he looks grumpier, and I'm pretty sure he didn't do any singing or shaking.

I rub my eyes and stretch briefly, annoyed at how long it's taking me to wake myself up all the way. If we were under attack, we would be dead already. We've all done a lot of sleeping over the last couple of days, especially Baylyn, but it's just pathetic how soon I'm getting off my edge. I guess I'm starting to get a little worn down after almost two weeks in the arena. But I can't. I need to be in prime fighting condition at a moment's notice. My birthday is no excuse to put us all in danger, either.

"What, no presents?" I mumble sleepily, "Man, I got gypped."

Baylyn laughs and Hary's scowl deepens, although it's pretty obvious he's trying hard not to smile.

"Well, we did let you sleep in," Baylyn points out. She's not even close to being recovered, and she won't ever be unless she wins, but she's able to stay conscious for pretty much normal stretches of time now. Although she does nap a lot, and it's pretty clear she's always in pain. Hary says that she'll live, as far as he can tell, but anything beyond walking is not going to be within her physical capacity any time soon. We're lucky that Wesley is so sloppy. She's going to live. She even took a watch shift last night.

"So, time for breakfast?" I sigh, rubbing the back of my head in a doomed attempt at smoothing my hair down. At this point it's so greasy and tangled I'll be surprised if anything other than chopping it off entirely will fix it. Oh well. I don't really care all that much.

"Only if we go back to the river and pick some more," Baylyn says, "We're out again."

I frown. We're already establishing too predictable a schedule for my liking, what with dragging ourselves to the river twice a day to drink. But we don't have much choice. Real travel is still usually enough to make Baylyn pass out, and there's no way we could possibly move any farther away from the river. It's frustrating, but I'm pretty sure this is how the Gamemakers planned it. They want fights, so they make us all rely heavily on the river to bring us together. Simple, but it works, and I can't think of any way to beat their system while we're all still not quite at the top of our game. Well, maybe Hary is. But it's not his job to be a fighter. Come to think of it, what _is _his job? The kid really doesn't do all that much. Why do we keep him around? But I shrug it off. He'll have to die at some point, but it doesn't have to be now. He hasn't tried to hurt us.

I look at Hary briefly before standing up. He may be traveling with us, but I don't really consider him a friend, or even an ally. In my mind it's pretty clear. There's Baylyn and me, and then there's everyone else. And that's all there really is to it. And Hary is part of that "everyone else". That's just the way it is.

"Well, let's get this over with," I sigh. I slowly help Baylyn to her feet, and she's already breathing hard by the time I slip my arm around her waist to keep her from falling over to the side. She nods stoically to show me she's about as ready as we can hope for and we start off. Hary and I make small talk that neither of us really bothers to pay attention to and politely ignore Baylyn's occasional sounds of pain. I know she thinks she's pretty much useless, and I guess for practical purposes some people might say she is. But I'm not going to be kicking her out on her own any time.

We're not moving much faster than before, but Baylyn doesn't pass out at all this time, and only needs to stop to take two breaks, so we get there a little faster than usual. As I top one of the almost-imperceptible curvatures of the land the Gamemakers engineered to give us kids the tiniest suggestion of shelter, I see a figure on the bank already. Two, actually. My first reaction is a knee-jerk attempt at dropping flat to the ground, but Baylyn yelps in pain and crumples to the ground. Oops. The pair on the bank turns to us and I've whipped my knife out to prepare for a fight, before I realize the taller one is…waving. What?

I stare at it skeptically for a moment to ascertain that, yes. It is waving. I help Baylyn, who's spitting a strained stream of curses, to her feet and begin to back away. But the person starts coming towards me. Although they're still pretty far away and I can only make out their silhouette because the sun is shining in my eyes, but I cans see they're holding out their hands to show they're unarmed. I consider my options, and decide that if it comes to it this is as good a spot to fight as any and I can't outrun them with Baylyn anyway. So I let her down to the ground gently and wait.

It's the boy from District 8. Caspian. I guess he's alive, and the other person is his District partner. I relax a little. I'm sore, but I can take him, I'm pretty sure. And Roe wouldn't stand a chance. No offense meant to her, of course.

After a few moments Caspian is within hearing distance and calls quietly, "Who's the blond kid?"

I figure he means Hary, since Baylyn was there when I saved Roe and isn't much of a kid anyway, so I answer, "Hary Lumer, District 2. Why?"

He shrugs. "Why not? I'm just glad to have someone to talk to who can string two words together without making themselves look like an idiot."

Which makes some sense, I guess, but I don't lower my knife.

"What happened to you?" He asks, looking down where Baylyn is lying in sort of a pathetic puddle of miserable teenage girl.

"Wesley. My District partner. Ran in and tried to kill us. Almost did," she mutters, slowly shifting one leg out from under her body.

There's a short pause while I watch Caspian carefully. "What?" He says, a little irritably.

"Why…are you even talking to us?" I ask suspiciously.

"I told you. I'm tired of talking to Roe. The last time I ran into you guys nobody killed anybody else, so I figured I'd take human interaction where I thought I could get it without ending up dead."

"Uh…Caspian?"

He sighs as Roe pulls on his sleeve.

"What is it this time, Roe? I don't really care about how much you like turtles, you know. Well, whatever turtles are. And didn't I tell you to stay on the bank?"

"Uh, yeah, but I was homely."

Caspian rolls his eyes. "You mean you were _lonely_. Although I'm not really disagreeing with that."

Roe lowers her chin so that it's almost pressed against her chest and makes a few vague hand motions, but I have no idea what she's trying to communicate.

"Uh, red is pretty. Like red birdies. I like 'em. Yeah."

My group looks at each other in confusion and Caspian rolls his eyes.

"You have no idea. For her, that last comment sounds intelligent."

"Yeah…" Roe says. Caspian sighs again in frustration.

"You're not supposed to _agree with me!_"

"Oh. Uh, yeah…"

As we lie on our stomachs and talk quietly, I still keep half my mind focused on listening and watching. I'm not stupid enough to trust our safety to birthday luck and Gamemaker mercy.

Roe's pretty much having a conversation with herself, since no one really has anything to say to her random and disconnected comments. It doesn't seem to bother her any, though. The rest of us have been talking about whatever came to mind. Well, Baylyn and I don't talk much. We may be fine around each other, but we're still not quite a pair of social butterflies. Baylyn's just kind of thoughtful and shy, and I'm too busy analyzing every word Caspian says to decide whether or not we can trust him. But he and Hary are getting along well enough.

It's tempting to relax and let my guard down. Everyone's acting so sane. It's just conversation about whatever comes up. Mostly the Hunger Games, since that's foremost on everyone's mind, but it feels almost natural.

I'm not sure exactly how the subject of my birthday comes up. I think Baylyn might have mentioned it, but I wasn't really listening. A noise behind me dragged my attention away from the conversation for a moment.

"Happy birthday," Caspian says.

"Oh. Thanks," I say, still distracted.

"What a place for a party," Caspian sighs.

"Birdies like to party," Roe offers.

"No they don't, Roe," Caspian snaps. I feel bad for both of them.

"Well…we should probably go. We've been here for too long already," I say.

Baylyn nods and starts trying to arrange herself into a position that will be easier to stand up from. I consider helping her, but I'm pretty sure she'll just see it as another thing she can't do on her own anymore. I'll try to let her do it on her own, even if it takes a little longer.

Hary looks a little reluctant, but he stands up and dusts his hands off. He's welcome to stay with Caspian and Roe, actually, but he doesn't even seem to consider it. Caspian stands up too and shakes our hands. I wonder if I should attack them now while they're not expecting it, but I decide not to. After we've met them and left them alone before and spoken with them again now, it seems wrong to kill them now. Later if I have to. But it can wait.

And then we're off, and I'm hoping I never see Caspian Toushone or Roe Tamden again, because if I do it won't have a happy ending.

**Wesley Sawr, District 1**

"Yeah, yeah. I know," I grumble at Chip.

I can tell when my little robot is pleased with my performance, and today he's not. But I can't really do much about it. I don't even know where I am anymore because the whole stupid arena looks exactly the same. I'm only alive because of Chip, I'm sure. And I haven't been delivering much in return, actually.

I scoop Chip up, wrapping both hands around his furry waist. I've never actually touched him before, and it's clear that he really is a robot because of how hard he feels. Living things are squishy, and I can feel the metal inside of him. Chip doesn't seem too happy to be touched, either. He squirms around and screeches in a not-quite-normal voice. But I don't put him down. He's the closest thing I have to a friend in here and I'm just realizing how little I really know about him. Of course, he isn't real or anything, but I'm bored anyway.

Chip's sharp little nails catch on the skin of my hands, but it doesn't really hurt. I hold him up at eye level, and now that he's stopped squirming he looks me right in the eyes. It's a little weird to see something as twitchy as a squirrel be so still, but he's doing it.

"You are a freaky little rodent," I inform him.

Chip's head twitches so that he can survey me from his right eye but other than that I get no real response.

"I wonder who's controlling you over with the Gamemakers. Do you guys work together to run Chip or is there one little computer nerd pulling the strings the whole time?"

Chip is still. And I mean really still. He's a robot, so he doesn't even breath, and his heartbeat doesn't make his chest quiver at all. He's completely still, other than his slight swaying as my arms move a little bit. That's one difference between the living and the not living. Us who are alive are always moving, and everything is always moving around us. We breathe, we change, we watch time flow by and others move too, but the not living don't. Everything whirls by them, and they don't have to change. Bodies may decompose, cogs and wires may rust and corrode, but nothing important ever changes. At least, not to my knowledge.

Maybe that's why it's so easy to accept the things I've done here, and all the people I've killed. The thing is, as soon as I've done something it's behind me, and sooner or later it won't even matter. Everyone will have died and forgotten it and if you go far enough forward in time the world will grow up around it and it won't matter. The same for any good thing you ever try to do. The truth is, it _just doesn't matter_.

Depressing, maybe, but realistic. All you can really do is live for the moment and do what's best for you during your short time on earth. So I do. I don't expect anyone to do anything less.

"You're lucky you don't exist, you know. It's simpler. A lot easier. Well, I'm guessing. I can't imagine that it's harder to be nothing than to be something. Although, I guess nothing can't _really _exist, because if it did it would be something. Wouldn't it? Aw, this it too complicated," I grumble, and on a whim I snap Chip's neck. I figure that should be enough to break the stupid thing, but I smash it with a rock a few times just to make sure.

I turn and walk away.

Okay, maybe that was really stupid. But hey, what do I care?

**Surviving Contestants:**

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Hary Lumer (Hawr-ee Loo-mur)

Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: None

District 4: Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: None

District 7: None

District 8: Caspian Toushone (Cas-pee-in Too-shown)

Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)

District 9: None

District 10: None

District 11: Berra Timsing (Bare-uh Tim-zing)

District 12: None


	21. Numbers

**A/N**- I am soooooooo sorry for the wait, guys. But now that school's back in session, my beta and I are both really busy, which makes it hard to get chapters up. But don't worry. I will not abandon a story. Ever, Even if updates lag like this. On another note, I'm curious to see where everybody stands with the readers, so I'm going to put a poll up on my profile. Favorite characters, anyone?

You guys are great! Next chapter will be the Final Eight interviews.

**Chapter Twenty**

**Berra Timsing, District 11**

I stare at the fifteen notches in my tree. One more and it's the Final Eight. I've never really understood why the Final Eight is so significant. The odds are still very much stacked against you. Seven other people will still have to die for you to escape. Really, I don't see anything about it worth celebrating. But after the big deal they made over it last year, I really can't escape the anticipation, despite what my logical side is telling me.

BD3.

GD3.

BD4. My mind cringes a little bit at Mattrick's memory.

GD5.

BD6.

GD6.

I tear my eyes away. I'm only halfway through, and it's already painful thinking of all those deaths. I shake my head, trying to center myself. Those were people, with dreams and families and lives they wanted to live. But they're dead and there's nothing I or anyone else can possibly do to fix that. It's better not to think about it. The only problem with that is I _can't not_. As soon as I ignore the fact the people are dead, I let the Capitol win. As soon as I kill, I let the Capitol win. As soon as I accept the lifestyle of a victor, supporting myself with the bounty placed on the heads of twenty-three children, I let the Capitol win.

But that's the point, isn't it? It's almost impossible not to let them win. Well, I take that back. It's easy to beat them. But if you do, then you're dead.

My hand rubs the carved letters compulsively. If I keep it up for much longer my fingers are going to be worn raw by the rough bark. But the pain's almost a good thing. It distracts me, and gives me something petty to worry about. Something much less important than the ache in my stomach that the plants I find can't quite fill. Something other than the numbers that crowd my mind. Final Eight. Twenty-three dead. D4B. D11G. Thirteen days.

I sigh and bury my face in my arms. My springy, curly hair is greasy, and I rub at the roots of my hair, trying to rub the gross feeling of dirty hair against my scalp away, at least for a little while. I kick my legs against my flimsy branch, making it bounce and creak ominously. I decide not to do that anymore. I stare at the clouds and find shapes. I do anything to keep myself occupied.

I can't decide if time is moving slowly for me, or quickly. Everything feels the same, like nothing's changed since Mattrick died. Slowly then, I guess. Sighing, I tip my head back against the tree.

I wonder what my family will say about me if I make it into that final, overrated eight. Maybe my parents will cry. My brother and his fiancée will stay strong. I know they will, because they have each other now. And I wouldn't change that for the world. I don't want them miserable just so I can feel loved. I know they love me. I don't need their pain to show me that.

I can't sit still. The numbers have been eating away at the back of my mind. My tree- does it hurt or help those awful numbers? Does it help to keep a record, to remember those people, or does it just dehumanize them the way the Games are meant to dehumanize us? I don't know. I just don't know.

Okay, this can't go on. I'm making too much noise rustling around in my tree. I need to work out my jitters. So I swing down from the tree and land on the ground. My legs are stiff and uncooperative from lack of use, as I spend most of the day in my tree, and they buckle as I land. I fall backwards onto my butt and curse quietly, rubbing my sore rear and waiting for my legs to loosen up as I stretch them. After a moment, they do, but walking still feels stiff and awkward. I'll get used to it, though. They always relax after I walk for a little while.

I pick myself up slowly, grunting a little. I rock forward onto my hands and feet and stand up awkwardly. I stretch and hobble off, with no particular destination in mind. I'll know it when I get there, I think. But for now all there really is to do is walk and hope I can work whatever it is that won't let me sit still out of my system. And try to avoid counting.

I wonder what it is about numbers that suddenly bothers me. Is it just the looming approach of the final eight? Is it just the Hunger Games starting to get to me? I don't know. I don't like it either way, though. Would you?

I wonder if I'm going in the "right" direction. I think I am, as much as you can go the right randomly chosen direction. I guess a better way to say it might be, I hope this doesn't lead me to anything nasty. Which is entirely possible. But then again, I guess I could technically die at any moment, if one of the Gamemakers sicked a moving tree on me again, or flooded the arena, or jacked up the temperature. But this is less scary than I'd expect. It's been almost two weeks, and I'm starting to get used to it.

I almost wish the arena were…more interesting. I wish I had something to look at when I sat around all day. Something besides grass and the little nubs that are distant trees. And, couldn't they have used a little color? Everything is the same shade of yellow-brown. Well, not everything. But I swear the grasses are getting even more uniform than before. Their green seems to have mostly faded away by now, which is saying something. They weren't all that green before.

Am I complaining about the arena? I stop in the middle of taking a step and frown thoughtfully. I guess I am. That's…strange. But I ignore it and keep walking. It's not going to get me killed or anything. Really, if something I'm doing _were _to get me killed, it would be the way I'm walking upright. But I really don't want to crawl. The whole point of this is to be uninhibited and shake off the need to move around. I can't restrict myself right now, or I don't think it'll really be much help. So I just keep walking. It's really the best thing I can do, at the moment. Besides, if I see someone on the horizon, I can just duck down and crawl away through an old trail. There're plenty of them, and it'll be much harder to track me.

I rub at my arms as I walk, humming softly to myself. It's getting colder. It seems to be natural, though. It's just a short cold spell like you get in natural weather patterns. I don't think it's the Gamemakers playing with the temperature. Although I wouldn't put it past them to start. It'll take some pretty clever engineering, though. The entire environment of the large arena would have to be at their fingertips. But I'm sure they'll get there eventually. Whatever else you can say about those sadistic designers, they're clever.

There are a lot of clever people in the world who could use their intelligence for better purposes. Things that weren't violent or self-serving. But they don't. I wonder why people are the way we are, looking out for ourselves first instead of using our human intelligence and awareness to better the world around us. I mean, we're the only animals on earth who understand that other animals have actual thoughts and feelings. We're the only animals who can really claim to have…morals, I guess. But we still kill each other off and torture and fight and…you know. It doesn't make any sense to me.

It doesn't make any sense that a human, a human who understands emotion and thought, would take children from their families and tell them to kill each other. It just doesn't make _sense. _Why would they do this?

I guess it comes back to numbers. These people know numbers. They're smart. And if they hide behind not believing we're people, naming us D11G or D4B, they can control us. And themselves. And maybe that's what they're really searching for.

Maybe, somewhere inside themselves, the Capitol people realize they're wrong. Not just to kill us, but to enslave us while they live in decadence. Maybe that's why they punish us so harshly, hate us so severely. Because they're desperate for an emotion, any emotion to cover up what we and they already know. So they cause pain and anger and shove away the bit of humanity struggling inside of their chests, because it's easier than trying to change. Oh, I'm sure there are some who are just truly evil and really do delight in our pain, but a whole country? I can't believe that. I just can't.

_I apologize for the interruption in the narrative flow. The Archivist wishes to include some context for the previous statement._

_Unrest was common in the Districts at the time of the 2__nd__ Hunger Games, as it was shortly after the end of the rebellion and not all of the dangerous anti-Capitol heretics had been successfully weeded out at that point. Part of Berra Timsing's statement was true: there was a significant amount of unrest. However, it soon passed and the Districts were returned to their proper status as lesser beings. Thank you for your time. The narrative will now resume._

And then I see the one thing I've been dreading most since I started this apparently ill-fated walk. Someone running towards me.

I fall to my hands and knees and crawl, but it's no good. They've already seen me. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I should have paid more attention. I try desperately to slip away through the grass, but every time I change direction, the person immediately adjusts their course to match mine. How do they know? I guess how they're following me is not really important, considering. Considering they're almost right on top of me.

I turn and run, chased by my thoughts as well as the other kid, who I can see is the blond boy from District1. The one built like a…something. I don't know what to call him. But he's big.

I don't know if I can outpace him. He's a lot bigger than me. But I'm going to try. I won't give up. I don't want to become just one of those numbers.

**Wesley Sawr, District 1**

Oh, dang. Oh, dang. Oh-dang-oh-dang-oh-dang-oh-dang. So, that was _definitely _a bad idea. _Reeeeeeeally_ bad. Apparently, Chip wasn't the only RoboThingee, because about twenty of them are after me.

I repeat. Oh-dang-oh-dang-oh-dang…

It's pretty clear they're herding me. They're not the shy, silent companion that Chip was. They're not just assisting me. They're in charge. If I try to stop or even slow down, their claws dig into some part of my body. My ankles are already torn and bloody. Some of them are hanging onto my shirt and pants, chittering into my ears, scrambling over my body. Just to make me nervous, as far as I can tell. Well, it's working.

I can guess what they want. I'm paid to kill. More or less. So they're leading me to someone. And that someone will die, because I refuse to.

The person is small. And they're dark. So District 11 then. The boy would probably be bigger, if he's even still alive, so this must be the girl. So she must be the one the Gamemakers have sent me to kill, although I don't really see why. She doesn't exactly look like a threat, but there must be a reason. Unless they're just mad and trying to punish me. But there are way better ways to do that. Like, killing me and stuff. So this doesn't really make sense as a punishment. So that's not what they're looking for at all. I guess they're still just using me as a weapon. Maybe that's all I'll ever be.

Maybe I don't own myself the way I think I do. Maybe when I say I'm taking my life in my hands, doing what's best for me because there's no point in doing anything else, I'm wrong. Maybe I'm always being controlled. Maybe there are Gamemakers herding my every move. Maybe there's such a thing as fate, deciding everything. Maybe there's a God, waving his all-powerful hands over the world and making things the way they are. I dunno. Maybe if I die I'll find out. But right now the principle stands. I do what's best for me. What else can I do? And right now the best thing for me is doing what the Gamemakers want. So I stop running _away_ from the Robos and start running _toward _the girl.

"I'll kill her! I'll kill her!" I bellow to them and they jump off my body with their robot perfection. They don't disappear, though, and instead run along beside me like some weird sort of pack. We're an odd group by any standards: Robotic rodents escorting a teenaged serial killer toward his next victim. Yeah. If that sentence doesn't sound at least a little off to you, you're even further gone than I am.

The girl gives up trying to hide and just takes off flat-out running. But she's not fast enough.

I begin to feel a strange stirring in my stomach. I don't really know what it is, but it feels…good, I guess. It gives me energy. It makes my heart pound. Kind of like the adrenaline I always get in a fight, but more restrained. Savage, but coldly so. Contained. I…like it?

I ignore it and keep running. Well, not really, because it's getting stronger faster. As I slowly begin to outstrip the robots, catching up with the girl quicker than I think she'd like, it almost makes me smile. Yes. I like this.

I grab her arm around the elbow and rip her backward with all my strength. She shouts in pain but I throw her to the ground, rewarded with a couple of thumps as she slams down and flattens the grass, her arms, legs, and head banging hard against the ground.

I put my foot against her shoulder and press her down just hard enough to stop her from escaping. I whip out the knife that that other kid stuck into my stomach a while ago and smile down at her as she tries to thrash her way out of my grip. I know what the feeling is now. It's exhilaration. To chase someone down, to kill them, is exciting. And this is what it all leads down to. I slice her throat open and she dies with a bloody gurgle. That's all. No screams, no pleading, no doomed attempt at fighting back. But it's okay, because the blood on my knife is enough to thrill me, and my smile doesn't fade.

I stand over her for a moment, feeling the last rushes of power-induced euphoria before it fades. "Final eight," I murmur.

I hear the faint whirring of gears as a Robo cocks its little metal head at me and I stand. Got to clear out now, so they can come collect the body. I turn and see them sitting in a thick ring around me. I move in one direction, not really figuring it matters which way I go if they're not trying to order me around. They part silently and I walk off, the pleasure still rustling around my stomach.

You know what? I can win this.

**Surviving Contestants:**

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Hary Lumer (Hawr-ee Loo-mur)

Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: None

District 4: Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: None

District 7: None

District 8: Caspian Toushone (Cas-pee-in Too-shown)

Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)

District 9: None

District 10: None

District 11: None

District 12: None


	22. Interlude

**A/N**- Soooooooooooo sorry for the lateness of my update! But the good news is my big time-consuming history project is over. Updates shouldn't take weeks anymore. Thanks to everyone's who's reviewed and voted in the quiz. I'll be taking it down probably tomorrow. One little note on the interviews: they're told in a sort of a mix between the interviewer's POV and the way viewers see it on television. Sorry if it's a bit confusing!

**Chapter 21****  
**

Tsepelia Climian took her place on stage. Just like last year. She hated the interviews, watching Toonce and Flore clumsily fumble out an interaction with some member of the children's families. It was positively _pathetic_. They had no idea how to deal with the District folk. You couldn't treat them like people from the Capitol. It took special grace to deal with them. Grace she had. Grace they didn't.

She, after all, was the one who coaxed doomed, frightened children into bearing their hearts on national television. Erasaziel Toonce should have stuck with being an anchorwoman. She was a terrible interviewer. But she was the president's cousin, so neither Tsepelia nor anyone else was about to challenge her appointment.

And the cameras were rolling. Tsepelia put on her practiced, breezy smile.

"Welcome, everyone, to the Final Eight interviews for the second Hunger Games! Isn't this exciting. As an added treat, we've traveled to the homes of the children themselves to speak with their friends and families! Now let us take you to District One, and the home of Baylyn Homer!"

**Aldess and Liment Homer, Brothers of Baylyn Homer (District 1 Female)**

Tennem was more than pleased with the changes they'd made to the interview style this year. Well, for the most part. He was glad that they were to have multiple interviewees. He loved that they were at least relatively scripted this year. He was even pretty happy with being in District 1 for the interview. But that could be a problem when they got into some of the poorer Districts. But at least they didn't have anyone from District 11 or 12 this year. Disgusting. Hopefully they'd change the style before it came to that.

Tennem looked at the two young men in front of him. They looked…confused, to be honest. Although he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. He was interviewing them about their sister in the Games. How complicated was that?

He smiled broadly at the two Homer boys as the cameras began rolling.

"Hello, Aldess and Liment! I understand you two are Baylyn Homer's older brothers?"

"Yes…" Said the boy, Aldess, with a somewhat puzzled look on his face. "What- what do you want to know about her?"

"Well, what do you have to say about her considerably weakened condition? A huge number of viewers think her ally Adrian Martinez should simply abandon or kill her since she's almost completely useless to their alliance now."

Aldess' eyes widened, and Liment's jaw dropped.

"What- what the- what do you expect us to say to that?" He exclaimed. "You want me to say, 'Gee sir, I sure hope the kid from District Five kills my baby sister!' What do you expect me to say? No, Adrian shouldn't kill Baylyn! And he won't. He better not!" growled Liment.

In his mind, Tennem was once again a little flustered by the violent attitude exhibited by Baylyn's oldest brother, but he forced himself to react with interest to the boy's hostility.

"So you still think Baylyn has a chance to win the Hunger Games then?" Tennem asked brightly. Liment gaped again.

"Now you want us to tell you how sure we are Baylyn's going to get slaughtered? If you're going to ask questions, don't ask stupid ones. Of course she can win!"

"Liment!" Muttered Aldess, pulling his older brother back into his seat. He rubbed his temples tiredly. You could tell these men were no well-to-do residents of upper-class District 1. They looked slightly dirty. Their eyes were rimmed by a raccoon mark of never sleeping enough. Their good clothes were worn, albeit clean. They looked older than their own twenty-five and twenty-three, maybe due to the constant drinking. They could drink themselves to death any day, just by taking too much in one sitting. Not that Tennem really picked up on any of this. He just knew he had to walk on eggshells around them. Well, around Liment. Aldess…

Tennem turned to Aldess, clearly the more easygoing of the two. "Well, how about you, Aldess? Is there anything you'd like to tell Panem about your sister?"

Aldess didn't explode with an answer the way Liment had. He looked down at his lap and his brow furrowed. He looked up into the cameras after a moment, swallowing deliberately.

"Just…that there's really nothing I can say to do her justice. She's…my little sister, and I could talk about her for hours and never say enough, really. She's…the best person I know. And I can't sum that up, sorry."

Tennem nodded sympathetically, although he didn't really get it. Aldess just _had _summed it up, hadn't he? But that had been a nice enough closing, so they'd just stopped it there. No need to spend more time in the Districts than necessary, and Tennem had a feeling it was the best he was going to get anyway.

**Hima and Reshwiss Sawr, Parents of Wesley Sawr (District 1 Male)**

Erasaziel Toonce was ready for this assignment, mostly. It was exciting, visiting the home of Wesley Sawr, known as the Hunger Games' biggest murderer. But it was also a little frightening. What if his family was just as dangerous?

But her excitement for this juicy interview overweighed her nerves. Besides, there would be a great number of Peacekeepers she was sure. Mostly sure? But maybe it was a little exciting, too.

Now she wasn't so sure.

The Sawrs wouldn't meet her eyes. A ten-year-old and a three-year-old peeked at her around the door to the kitchen, but ducked away when Sazi looked at them. Wesley's father coughed into his fist frequently, but it seemed like he was mostly trying to avoid her gaze and fill the lengthening silence. Mrs. Sawr's hand twisted in her lap and her stringy blond hair fell across her face.

They'd cut that out, of course. What played across the screen was Erasaziel gleefully launching into an interview with one of the most hated teenage boys in Panem.

"Your son Wesley is doing an _exceptional _job in the Games! There's no doubt in anyone's mind that he has the ability to win this."

"Oh, yes. Yes, of course he does," Reshwiss murmured. After several takes, that had actually been the best response they'd managed to get. It was rather discouraging.

"I'm sure it's quite a relief to see how well he's been performing. Were you at all surprised with his success?" Again, it took some coaxing to get a response.

"Oh, yes. He…he'd gotten into some fights at school before but- but- nothing like...this," Hima had answered, a frown on her vacant face.

"Yes. He always had a temper, but Wesley never hurt anyone before. Not on purpose," his father agreed, placing a hand on his wife's knee.

"I guess…he'd never really been threatened like that before. I guess he just needed a…push," Hima said, and broke off to cough into her arm. She didn't look back up, and Reshwiss' hand moved to rubbing her back.

"You must be thrilled at the high possibility of your son returning!" Sazi gushed.

"Well…" Murmured Hima.

Erasaziel blinked in surprise. "Well what?"

"Oh, oh, I want him back. I want Wesley back more than anything. But…I hardly know that boy on the T.V. screen. I mean, my son would never have- have- oh. You don't understand. I want my son back more than you will ever be able to know. But…is he really my son now? I don't know him. I don't-"

Hima's fumbling sentences broke and fell under the strength of her emotion, but Sazi couldn't look away. There was something about the way she sat, looking at her hands. She wasn't speaking for the cameras. Hima Sawr was not in the room, really. She was off in her own confused, grieving world.

"Yes. Yes, he can survive, Ms. Toonce," she said quietly, barely above a whisper. "But can he ever return?"

"Cut!" Announced the head cameraman. And just like that, Hima's eyes cleared.

"How was that?" She asked Sazi briskly.

"Ah…" Erasaziel mumbled, more than a little confused by the woman's abrupt change in demeanor.

"Reshwiss and I thought that was the best strategy to use. Tragic and memorable, but not compromising any of his strengths, no?" She added matter-of-factly.

"Oh. Yes. It was…good. Great," Erasaziel agreed, slowly regaining her footing.

"Our son will come back, Ms. Toonce. Don't doubt that for a moment; you'll only prove yourself to be a fool," Hima said frankly, before turning and leaving with her husband into the kitchen. She did not wait to be excused.

**Ylla Bindles, Friend of Eewyn Carre (District 2 Female)**

Ylla had been brought to the Carre home, despite not actually being a member of the family. The producers wanted to show as much of the children's home lives as possible, so they were filming in each boy's or girl's house.

Not that it threw Ylla off at all to be filming in the Carre's living room. Or to be filming at all. Ylla seemed to be the type that was never able to really grasp the seriousness of a situation, and was chatting happily with anyone who would listen. It was a nice change. Tennem was used to the people he interviewed being sad, angry, or upset in some other way. But not Ylla. She clearly had no secrets and no regrets. She was a refreshing change.

After sitting down, shaking his hand vigorously, and raving about how excited she was to be able to go on television and tell everyone about Eewyn, Ylla finally sat down. And the cameras were rolling.

"So, how long have you known Eewyn?" Tennem asked.

"Oh, pretty much my whole life," Ylla chirped. "That's why she's used to me. I don't know if she'd have liked me as much if we'd met when she was older. Which is why I'm glad I met her when I did! She's one of my best friends."

Tennem nodded earnestly. "Tell us more about her, Ylla."

"Oh," the girl said thoughtfully. "She's fifteen, so she's a year older than me. Umm, she's smart. _Really _smart. I guarantee she's got ten different strategies going in her head right now that none of us know about.

"She thinks about everything, too. When Eewyn does something, there's a reason. Even when it's an impulse she doesn't understand, you can be sure there's something behind it she's only picked up on subconsciously."

Tennem nodded. "Very smart girl, yes. But what's she like around people here in District Two?"

"She's…withdrawn, sometimes. Sarcastic, but you know that. Really, it depends on whom she's with. Some people draw her out, and some she just sort of ignores. She's hard to pin down. I think that might be why she likes me. I don't hold anything in, if you hadn't realized," Ylla chirped with a smile.

"Clearly her family is pretty well off. Has this affected Eewyn much?"

"Well, duh it's affected her," Ylla said with a somewhat puzzled look. "But do you mean, is she snob? Is she nasty to poor people? No, of course not. Eewyn only hates people who deserve it. Stupid people. Mean people. You know. That sort."

"I see. Tell me, is there a special young man here in District Two?" Tennem asked.

"You mean, like, a boyfriend?" Ylla asked, frowning slightly.

"Yes, exactly."

Ylla snorted in laughter. "No! She doesn't think much of the boys at our school for the most part, and I don't blame her. They're all pretty immature."

"Did she know last year's young man?" Tennem asked curiously. "He seemed like a nice boy."

Ylla's face fell and her lips pressed together. "Kind of. I mean, we knew his name and everything. I had First Aid with him. But we didn't really know him."

Tennem nodded and continued the interview, and the video feed faded out.

**Malyri Lumer, Mother of Hary Lumer (District 2 Male)**

Sazi was ready to _kill _this interview. Just _kill _it. Her job was hard, but she was determined to do her very best. Whatever anyone could say about her, she was determined. And optimistic. Of course, her optimism was facing a serious test in the face of the Hunger Games Final Eight interviews. They always managed to throw her off her game, for a while at least. Her first interviews, the Sawrs, had knocked her down even more pegs than usual. She hadn't known that the District people could be so clever, so devious. But she was Erasaziel Toonce, and she was not to be deterred. Had she given up when Panem had gone to war? No! Had she broke down when her cousin Azin became president of Panem? Of course not. Did she lose it when she saw Azin execute a former newsman, knowing that the same fate could quite easily be hers if she failed President Hellwick? No. And she certainly wasn't going to let something like interviews throw her, either. So there.

"Good morning, Mrs. Lumer. How are you doing today?"

She shrugged listlessly. "Oh, all my days are the same now. It was that way before Hary left too, but of course this is a completely different sort of same, if that makes any sense."

"Hmm, not really, Ma'am," Sazi admitted with a gentle smile. Malyri's face remained limp and blank as she responded.

"Days are always the same here. Every day is like all the ones that came before it. Of course something big happens every now and then, and that changes the balance. But as soon as that one big thing is over, everything falls into rhythm again. A different rhythm, I'll grant you that, but a rhythm."

Malyri's voice was soft and faintly lyrical. Her tones were even and calm and just a little distant. It was like she was talking, but her mind was having no part of it. Malyri was somewhere else far away. It was just you and her stories in this world. It was almost dreamlike, hypnotic.

"There was a rhythm before Hary left. There was a rhythm for the first thirteen years of his life. That was the gentle rhythm. That was the rhythm that made life seem like it was just one piece of silk hanging from a railing, and we were threads. Everything was smooth. Smooth and soft. Sometimes the fabric was poorly made or worn thin, and sometimes the designs and swirls were vibrant, but as a whole it was perfect and unblemished. We, the threads, wove through it. We made it up, but we were also carried along by it. By each other. We the threads strung through it, vibrant but all the same.

"Then the war came and the rhythm changed, fell into a new rhythm. This one wasn't the slow, sleepy tapestry sameness. It was a constant smash. It was the sort of same where your heart and your mind go numb and everything seems like it's just one indistinct flash, and then it's gone and replaced by another. This rhythm was too fast, and too painful to live in, and it had to break at some point. And so it did. The war ended, and the fast rhythm died. There was a confused, uncoordinated time before another took its place.

"The Huger Games began. It was a shock at first, cold water in the face. But I knew I would have to live with this new pulse. It was strained, thrumming with anticipated fear. But my son was not chosen. And once the Games ended the rhythm ebbed. And then the second reaping approached. That tautness began to build again, and every moment felt brittle. But it was just the rhythm, and I paid it no notice.

"Then Hary was called, and the rhythm disappeared. Those last few days were the most confused of my life, as rhythms struggled to come to dominance. I couldn't decide how I felt, at first. Angry, grieved, hopeful. But after that first night he was in the arena, there's a rhythm again.

"There's nothing, really. There's nothing more to be said; there's nothing I can do to stop it. So I just sit and wait. There's no other choice."

Sazi blinked slightly, thanked Malyri, and walked out mostly in a daze, despite having learned next to nothing on Hary Lumer himself.

The heck with "killing" the interviews. The heck with understanding these District people. She just wanted to survive.

**The Cormichaels, Family of Evita Cormichael (District 4 Female)**

There were a lot of them. Boy, were there a lot of them. Tennem chanted their names in his mind; how embarrassing would it be to forget the names of the people he was interviewing? Very.

_Vesper, Linzy, Breela, Tormac, Shesanna, Imril, Reish…and I'll just call the parents Mr. and Mrs. Cormichael._

Yes. Yes, that was good plan. Don't deal with any more first names than you absolutely had to. Now as long as he didn't forget the kids… Oh well. They could just take another shot, worst-case scenario. But it would still be awkward. Tennem hated awkward.

He looked out across the sea of Cormichaels. How did they even all fit in the living room? When you include Tennem, his guards, the camera crew, the seven children, and Evita Cormichael's parents, there was next to no room in the small shack. And it was starting to get hot. Tennem hoped no one passed out; that would put them _way _behind schedule, and he didn't want to have to stay here any longer than was absolutely necessary.

"Hello, everyone! Why don't we introduce ourselves before the cameras start rolling?" Tennem suggested cheerfully. A sea of blue and dark brown eyes blinked back at him. No one said anything.

"Oh. Um…I'll start?" He tried uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "I am, uh, Tennem Flore, and I'll be interviewing you today."

Silence stretched. One of the cameramen coughed awkwardly. Tennem looked at the children seated in descending order of height in front of the couch. He fixed his eyes on the first one, who he figured must have been the oldest, and chirped, "You next!"

The girl eyed him with distaste for a moment before muttering, "Vesper."

He nodded and looked at the next. "Linzy," she said. Though her hostility was better masked than Vesper's, it still made Tennem wilt a little bit.

The next girl muttered something unintelligible. "Ah, beg pardon?" Tennem asked.

She snapped something again, with no noticeable change in volume or enunciation.

"Once more, perhaps?" He begged.

"Breela Cormichael!" She snapped.

"Oh," he said faintly. "Very…very well. Thank you? And how abo-"

"Tormac," growled the next child, the first boy.

"Shesanna," a girl too young even to be reaped.

"Imril," the boy's brown eyes blinked behind battered glasses.

"My name's Reish an' I think your hair looks like a turdle. I like turdles," Beamed the youngest.

"Ah…thank you," Tennem said with an uneasy smile. A turtle? So dying the tips of his hair green had _definitely _been a mistake. Oh well. At least the youngest Cormichael didn't appear to wish him any physical harm, which was a step up.

"Well, let's get started, shall we?" He said with a smile, doing his best to stay positive. "Tell me about Evita."

"Aren't you an interviewer? It's your job to ask us questions. So do it," Linzy said stonily.

"Oh. Of course… So, the Evita we all see in the arena, the aggressive survivor, is that the _real _Evita?" He asked, forcing a smile.

"Sort of. I mean, she doesn't exactly go around killing kids all the time. That's not a real common situation for her, actually," Snapped Vesper. She glared at him, and her intention was clear. She blamed him. Well, it wasn't _his _fault any more than it was Vesper Cormichael's. Was it his fault the Districts rebelled? No. Was it his fault they lost the war? No. Was it his fault the government had instituted the Hunger Games? No. Was it Tennem's fault Evita had been reaped? Of course not. So it was foolish to blame him.

"Big sisser's on the tevi… the velet… the tebelision!" Reish exclaimed, stumbling over the long word.

Shesanna burst into tears and ran out of the room. Tormac glared at Tennem like he thought this too was the announcer's fault, and followed his little sister.

"Has Evita always been this tough?" He asked, looking at Mr. and Mrs. Cormichael.

"This tough? No, she's never had to be," said her father smoothly, "But I'm certainly glad she has been. She can do anything she set her mind to." He smiled ironically, "She could probably bring down this whole country if she took to the idea."

Tennem laughed, partly because the idea of a teenage girl defeating the Capitol was hilarious, and partly because it was the only appropriate reaction. What else would you say to something that could be seen as downright traitorous when taken seriously?

"Yes, she's a very strong girl. What would you say her biggest strength is?" Tennem asked, glancing at the small boy in glasses who had yet to speak.

Imril debated for a long moment, before answering with deliberate slowness. "Evita's strong in a lot of ways. Not all of 'em are good, either. But the one that I think is really the best is that she's brave. She doesn't let anything scare her, no matter how dangerous it might be. I don't think she's really afraid of the Capitol, or those other kids, or dying. No matter what happens to Evita, she's going to keep fighting, and she-"

"You're on the tebelision!" Reish exclaimed in the wonder of realization, "Vita's on the tebelision too! Can you tell her I say hi?" He asked, his eyes wide with excitement.

"I'll…see what I can do," Tennem promised weakly. The camera faded out.

**Yosef and Alys Martinez, Parents of Adrian Martinez (District 5 Male)**

Sazi was looking forward to this interview. The writers had decided to play up the family drama aspect. The viewers were just going to eat it up!

She rubbed her hands together. They had a much more specific script for this one, what with the timing being very important, and they'd rehearsed it a couple of times. Now they were just about ready to begin filming. She took a quick swig from a bottle of cold water (she'd brought a large supply of water bottles; some of the Districts had just _disgusting _water) and smiled hugely.

"Alright! Let's get started, shall we?" Adrian's parents nodded, determined looks melting into the emotions written into the script. Mr. Martinez's face and back slumped into a relatively good impression of despair. He wasn't about to be hired by any soap operas, but it would be enough to fool the audience, most of who would be drunk already.

Mrs. Martinez bristled with anger. She had it easier; any mother in her position would naturally be angry. All she had to do was not forget her lines.

"I'm here with Yosef and Alys Martinez, the parents of Adrian Martinez. Tell us about your son."

It was boring dialogue. Easily forgettable stuff. But that was okay; the writers had planned it that way. Yosef and Alys weren't today's stars; they were just setting the stage.

"He's a good kid," muttered Mr. Martinez, his face resting on his palms, "He doesn't deserve this."

"Of course not!" His wife growled, "None of them do! But they're there anyway and most of them are going to die."

The couple looked at each other in silence for a moment, before Yosef looked away and Alys wiped angry tears from her eyes. Sazi was pleased. This was going even better than she'd hoped.

"My," she said softly, feigning surprise, "it sounds like things haven't been very easy for you since the reaping."

"No. They haven't," Alys muttered, looking off to some place far beyond the camera. "But what are we supposed to do? We get along. We just…have to. What other choice do we have? Either Adrian comes back or he doesn't and there's nothing we can do to help him!" She growled, the anger building up again, rising slightly more to her feet with every sentence.

She wasn't half bad, either. Again, the words were nothing new, but she said them with passion.

"Alys, sit down," Yosef mumbled hopelessly. Mrs. Martinez opened her mouth to reply, but the door slammed open, and two Peacekeepers dragged in a stiff but unresisting young woman.

Alys and Yosef wore practiced expressions of disbelief. The first time they'd seen Lier, their astonishment had been real. They had expected their daughter to be gone for a very long time, probably forever. But while it was almost impossible for a poor family in District 5 to locate an anonymous missing daughter, it was easy for the Capitol to find that same girl as soon as she merited their interest. The entire investigation had taken less than a week.

Lier was probably the worst actor in the group, which was why Erasaziel was glad she pretty much only had to act out the things she was already feeling. Her first entrance, which had truly caught her parents by surprise, had gone mostly the same way. She stood stonily as her parents shouted and cried, hugging her and asking rapid-fire questions. After a few moments Sazi called them all back to their seats, and gave a Peacekeeper a moment to "find" a chair in the kitchen, like it wasn't already waiting for him.

"My, Lier! I'm sure everyone in the Capitol knows who you are now. At this point in the Hunger Games your brother is one of the people everyone is talking about!" Sazi chirped. Lier just looked at her darkly and shrugged.

"The conflict between you and your brother is a point of particularly high speculation and gossip. Tell me, what really happened between you and Adrian?" She continued.

"He already said. We got into a fight. I asked him to forgive me later, but he didn't. Then he got reaped. What more do you want to know?" She muttered, not looking at the camera.

Sazi looked at her for a moment. Honestly curious about her answer. Well, she had been the first time they'd run the interview. Now it was just the same unsatisfying answer as it always had been.

"Why didn't you come to say goodbye to him after he was chosen for the Games?" Erasaziel asked. That question had always bothered her. They had been so close (or at least that's what Adrian had said, and she didn't see why he would lie to his trusted ally), so why hadn't Lier come to say goodbye? Was the rift really so huge between them that she hadn't been able to force out a last goodbye?

Tears pricked at Lier's eyes. She shook her head, over and over, curling in two at the waist, covering her eyes with her hands and resting them on her knees. The camera faded to black, the sound of her sobs lingering for a moment until they were snuffed out like a candle.

**Kaylib Deeds and Cornelius Van Pelt, Friends of Caspian Toushone (District 8 Male)**

At least they were dressed nicely. By the time you got to District 7 the Districts started getting noticeably more dingy, and District 8 was particularly ugly. It might not have been the poorest district in Panem, but it was all gray concrete and rain and sweaty downtrodden people crammed into sweatshops. Icky. Exactly the sort of place Tennem didn't like to visit. But at least these two had made some effort at presenting themselves. They were washed, their hair was brushed. The Capitol had provided some money for new shirts. They would do.

Kaylib had a sleepy, detached look, and Cornelius was wringing his hands nervously. Neither of them appeared to be ideal candidates, but they never did. Tennem didn't understand why the interview organizers were so determined to show the vulnerable and the broken. Were they making some bizarre statement? Oh well, it was too confusing for him. He had better things to worry about, like not making a fool out of himself at parties, and making sure he got his hair dyed something besides green.

"Hello, hello, _hello_!" He exclaimed to the two boys. They nodded in reply, but said nothing. Tennem was _really _glad these interviews weren't live.

"So, Kaylib, tell me how you know Mr. Toushone," urged Tennem.

"We've been friends for…a long time. Ten years? I think it's been ten years." Kaylib seemed detached. His eyes held a trancelike shadow. Tennem found it a little creepy, frankly, so her turned to Cornelius.

"How about you?"

"He, uh, he dated my little sister for a while. They broke up about a year ago, but we're still friends. I don't know why they asked me to come here, though; he's got closer friends."

"That is interesting!" Tennem said. "Maybe you have a really unique perspective to offer us about Caspian."

"I guess. But nothing comes to mind, really. He's kind of a normal kid. Works hard, strong sense of duty. Which is probably why he's stuck with Tamden for so long."

"But, he can only put up with her for so long. I mean, he's only human. I don't think that's going to end well for either of them," Kaylib interjected. "She's going to send Caspian crazy, at the rate she's going."

"If they both survive that long," pointed out Cornelius miserably.

"He better. He better win. If he goes and dies on me, I'm gonna kill him!" Kaylib muttered, retreating again.

"He's got a lot of friends," Cornelius continued. "A lot of people in our district are rooting for him. More people than are rooting for Roe, I think. But if either of them comes back, we'll be happy for them. I want it to be Caspian, of course; I don't even know the girl."

"How good would you say his chances are?" Tennem asked. Cornelius just shrugged miserably, but Kaylib answered.

"Better, if he breaks his alliance with Roe. She's stupid enough to bring a whole lot of danger down on him. But he probably won't do that. So, he's got a better chance than some people, but it's not for sure. Definitely not for sure."

"So you think he deserves to win?" Tennem asked. For once both the boys jumped on the question, speaking in overlapping voices. Tennem waved them into silence, motioning to Kaylib.

"Yes. Yes he does, because he's the sort of person who wants it, but isn't willing to do _anything _to get it. He'd survive winning. I know he would. He'd be miserable. He might never recover all the way, but his life would still be worth living in the tiniest way, at least. That's why he deserves it. He's a good person. A really good person. But he's also the sort that wouldn't let his past destroy him," Kaylib finished, impassioned.

"Thank you very much, boys," Tennem said.

**Tacoma Tamden, Mother of Roe Tamden (District 8 Female)**

Erasaziel was a little surprised at how normal Mrs. Tamden looked. From the example set by the woman's daughter, she was almost expecting a family of cave people. But Tacoma Tamden looked remarkably normal, albeit harried.

Erasaziel smoothed her skirt. Almost to the end. She thought she still looked okay, but it never hurt to primp herself a little before being filmed. Especially when the budget didn't even allow more than one makeup artist to travel with her. She pouted. So unfair.

"Hello, Tacoma. You're Roe Tamden's mother?" Erasaziel said with a smile. She knew that, of course, and the audience should know too, because there would be a line of text on the bottom of the screen to identify the interviewees as there always was, but the number one rule she'd been taught about being an announcer was "treat the audience like idiots". So she did, and tried to affirm the basic details during the interview, if not at the beginning. But at the moment she was too drained to be creative. Besides "like they're idiots" allowed for hammer headed bluntness, right?

"Yes. I'm her. Me. She's my daughter. Roe is," Tacoma stuttered, her dirty blond hair falling into her eyes.

"Ah…yes," Sazi said, a little put off by the woman's strange behavior. Maybe next year she'd get used to how weird the District people acted. Maybe.

"You're from the Capitol! Did you see her before she went in?" Tacoma begged, for what, Sazi wasn't sure.

"No, I don't believe so. Why?" Erasaziel replied, forcing a polite air.

"Oh, I…was hoping she might have said something to you. But I suppose not. Poor Roe. Poor Roe. Poor, poor Roe," she murmured. For lack of a better idea, she patted the woman's shoulder sympathetically. But Tacoma's head snapped up, and her cold hand wrapped around Sazi's wrist.

"You need to bring her back. You're the president's cousin. You can save her; you can save all of them! Now! Make her stop it! Make her stop it now!"

Sazi was about ready to call one of the peacekeepers to pull the, obviously crazy, woman off of her arm, but Mrs. Tamden leapt to her feet, pacing for a moment before changing direction mid-step and stumbling to the wall of her shabby house. She pulled pictures off the wall, mostly drawings in colored or gray pencil.

"Here! Here, look at them! Roe drew these; she drew these! When she was little she'd see animals on TV and she didn't know what they were, so she drew pictures of them. Then when she got older she kept drawing pictures of the animals because she was used to it, but they were so different from anything she'd ever seen. See! She drew a picture of a dolphin, here, right before she got called. She did it just the week before."

"Well, yes, Mrs. Tamden, but-" Sazi tried to interrupt.

"And…and look here! She sewed this! We didn't have any money for new dress cloth, so she took an old sheet and she cut it and sewed it together, just like I showed her when she was little! And she- and she…" Tacoma's eyes were fixed on something in the distance, her mouth was working, and the papers and skirt fluttered from her arms like butterfly wings torn away from their owners. Maybe she wasn't as normal as she'd first seemed.

"Are you alri-" Erasaziel began, before Tacoma grabbed a hold of her shoulders and yanked her forward until their noses nearly touched.

"She makes beautiful things! She smiles at everyone! She has a family! She needs to come back!" She screamed, shaking Sazi with rabid fervor. Erasaziel screamed in alarm and two peacekeepers jumped to her defense, yanking Mrs. Tamden off her so abruptly that Sazi's own attempts to escape knocked her chair over backwards, and sent her sprawling in a bloom of wispy white skirt.

Tacoma went limp in the peacekeepers' hands and sobbed, only kept from collapsing into a pile on the floor by the grip they held on her elbows and shoulders. The uncomfortable moment stretched on, Sazi sitting in a tousled mess on the floor, Tacoma hanging like a doll as she sobbed, as the camera faded out for the final time.

"And there you have it, Panem! The second annual Hunger Games Final Eight Interviews! Good night everyone! Our regular coverage will resume right after this commercial break!"


	23. The Tree

**A/N**- Bad news, guys. Nation Novel Writing Month is starting, and I'm going to be participating. NO idea how this will effect my update speed, but chances are it won't be good. And just when one of my plays ended! I'm a horrible author right now, and I apologize. *grovels* On the upside, this is the last real character-development-only chapter. The rest should all have deaths! Yay? Eh. Sorry again. I love you guys!

**Chapter 22**

**Wesley Sawr, District 1**

I rub my stomach miserably. It still hurts where that kid stabbed me. Doesn't bleed any more, but it hurts.

The robots sit around me in a perfect circle. It's really creepy, actually. They're not as lifelike as Chip was. They never move unless they need to adjust their position to threaten me, or herd me where they want me to go. And they never, ever, blink.

Their eyes pulse gently, the red growing and fading. I guess when you don't have a heartbeat, you use something else to convey your pulse. Or whatever it is working robots have.

"So…" I begin awkwardly. The Robos don't do anything. "How long am I supposed to sit here? Isn't there someone you want me to kill?"

No answer. These guys are even worse talkers than Chip, and he was already a robotic squirrel. I guess I miss him. Maybe snapping his neck was a bad idea, but I got upset. He was pretending to be my friend, but he was really manipulating me. I hate being manipulated. These new Robos are honest about it, at least.

"So, I'm just gonna sit here forever, then?" I ask sarcastically. No answer. Not even a twitch. "I'm not going to be much good at killing people if I starve to death, you know." Even this doesn't seem to matter to them. It hits me that maybe they don't want me to leave. Maybe they don't need me anymore. Maybe they're just trapping me here until I starve to death. I don't doubt they could scratch my eyes out with those sharp little claws of theirs, if the inspiration hit them. I think again about the person or people running Chip. Well, now the Robos. I wonder if they see me any differently now that they seem to be acting more as my prison guards than as my partners. I wonder if they like me, or if they used to and don't anymore. I guess it's possible. But somehow I get the feeling I was never more than a pawn. And I thought I was important. I sneer at my own stupidity.

"I'm…really kind of hungry, guys," I say, the bravado gone.

The Robos don't move. Don't even blink. Somehow I'm not surprised.

I let a long breath whistle through my lips. Falling backwards against the grass, I prepare to spend the next day or so lying here and looking at the sky. It's at least relatively interesting, as far as sky goes. Nice blue with some clouds, and enough wind that they're changing into different shapes. Still not quite prime entertainment, though. I guess the people at home are in the same boat. It's got to be a little easier for our families when things lull like this, but just the same it must be torture. I can only imagine how tense it would be in the homes of the taken, especially now that we're getting late into the Games. At this point, everyone is being watched very closely. Anyone could win, I think. Except maybe the girl from 8, who's too stupid to live. As for the rest of us…no matter who dies at this point it'll be a shock and a huge blow, probably even to the audience.

I wonder how my parents are dealing. They're strong. They're the ones who taught me to be strong. I grin to myself. They did a good job. Any of the kids I've killed could tell you that. The smile fades a bit. I wonder if it surprised my parents at all. Death's not so clean and easy as it sounds, at least not the way kids go in the Hunger Games. It's bloody and scary and it happens too soon. But it is what it is, and someday everyone will have forgotten about it. I bet you in a hundred years, most of the kids that fight in the Games are forgotten. That's my real goal, I guess. Not to just be one of the victims shoved to the side and forgotten.

I live for the moment. I base my life off of the moment. And to be honest, it's eternity that scares me.

**Evita Cormichael, District 4**

You know what? I was just wishing I knew who all had died. I guess I just got lucky, because I'm looking at what appears to be a pretty complete list.

"Hey, Eewyn. You better come take a look at this," I call, waving my friend over.

"Let me guess: You found something on the tree and now you think someone's been here," Eewyn calls, as she rambles over. I guess she's in a sarcastic mood at the moment.

"Yeah. How did you know?" I say, frowning. She's just been milling around a little bit off. As far as I know she hasn't come anywhere near the tree. I don't know how she would have known about those markings. She better not be telepathic. That just wouldn't be fair.

"Just a guess," she said blandly, ambling over to me and taking her own sweet time about doing it. Just not fair.

"Well, it's right here," I say, rubbing the scratched bark. Eewyn looks at it for a moment, a thoughtful frown on her face.

"D1B, D1G, D2B…I'd say this is supposed to be a chart. For keeping track of people. Hmm…yep. As far as I can tell, the letters and numbers seem to be scratched out for the dead people. D4B. D5G," she points out. I can't for the life of me remember who is and isn't dead yet, except for a few of the more memorable tributes like the girl from 7 who had that weird twitch, or the girl from 3 who seemed to be in denial of everything. Well, I guess not denial. She just seemed to be ignoring the fact that she was probably going to die a horrible death in the next couple of weeks. And she did. Something along the lines of the second day, I believe. That crosses the line from sad into just plain embarrassing.

"Well…fine. Make me look like an idiot. Go ahead," I grumble. Of course I knew what the marks meant, but now that Eewyn's pointed it out, nobody in Panem will believe my cries of "I knew that".

"Oh, you don't need my help with that," Eewyn says cheerfully.

"Haha. You're so funny," I growl back.

"That's it? 'You're so funny'? Wow, you're really losing your edge, Vita," Eewyn drawls, that smug cat smile on her face.

"Sorry, _Wynnie_," I growl, returning her mocking term of endearment. But Eewyn's lost interest in this argument. She looks at the tree, her fingers trailing over the bark as she slowly rounds the slim trunk. She sighs and turns back to me.

"I guess it's time for a stakeout," Eewyn says with a sigh. I cock my head and look at her.

"Why?"

"This looks like a pretty current list, so somebody's been keeping it up-to-date. Whoever did this may come back soon, and then you can…" She trails off. She doesn't need to finish.

"I guess. But if we want to lure them back we'd better, like, lie down or something," I say. "We're really visible at the moment."

"Yeah, I know," Eewyn says testily. The sad thing is, I bet everyone believes _her. _Stupid double standards.

I walk over to a patch of grass that hasn't quite been beaten down yet. Most of the grass has been walked over by this point. It kind of makes me wonder why we haven't been running into other people more than we have. I wonder what exactly the Gamemakers have done to control how fast this thing goes. Maybe we're even surrounded by holograms all the time, and we only see what they want us to. Probably not, but it's the best theory I have.

I pull the grass over me (well, sort of) and try to cover myself. Eewyn snickers.

"Shut up!" I snap. She rolls her eyes and crosses over to me, wiggling down into my little patch. She pulls the grass stalks over her with a little more grace, and props her chin up on her hands to watch me struggle.

"Shut _up_!" I repeat, finally giving up on covering myself and just pressing myself as flat against the ground as I can manage.

"I didn't even say anything this time!" She protests.

"No, but you were thinking it," I grumble back.

"Oh, so now you can read my mind, too?" She says sarcastically.

"No, but I know you well enough to know when you're insulting me in your mind," I snap back at her, rolling over so I can watch the sky.

"Whatever," she says with a sigh, "You're crazy, Evita."

"Yeah, yeah," I dismiss.

Silence stretches between us for a long time. We're not really mad, but neither of us is about to be the first to speak, which is more or less equivalent to an apology. No one likes to admit they're wrong.

It's usually me who loses these silence matches, but this time it's Eewyn who starts to squirm in the aloof quiet.

"You have many friends back in District Four?" She asks, twirling a long piece of grass between her fingers. Success.

"I dunno. I guess so. Have about you?" I ask, tilting my head to get a better view of her face.

"Not really. I'm not too fond of most of the girls in my classes, and the boys are even worse."

"Tell me about it," I snort. "I've got brothers. And sisters, but they're different."

Eewyn smiles a little. "I wish I had siblings."

"Nah, you just think you do. If you really had 'em, you'd just be wishing for some time away from them. I always did," I reply.

Eewyn studies me carefully. "You don't mean that," she decides. I snort derisively.

"How do you know what I mean? I think that I would-"

"I know what you look like when you're trying to act tougher than you are. It's the way you look right now," Eewyn cuts in. I don't answer.

"It's alright to care about people, Evita. It doesn't make you weak. I wish I had an easier time caring about people," she says, her voice dropping to an uncharacteristic mumble.

"What?" I ask, frowning.

"I don't have an easy time caring for people. I see how easily it comes to other people most of the time. I see other girls running around squealing over boys or whatever. Their emotions come so quickly and leave so quickly, and it just looks like they don't have to try at all. But I…it's more difficult. I try to feel empathy toward people, I really do. But it's so hard to actually feel much for most of them. I mean, I'd be upset if I lost one of my friends or my family members, but there really isn't anyone I couldn't live without, and I wish there was," she finishes. I don't say anything for a moment.

"Does this whole 'not feeling' thing apply to me too?"

Eewyn smiles and chuckles. "Not so much. I like being around you. Of all the grouchy teenage girls to be stuck with, you're not a bad choice."

"Plus, I kick butt," I point out. Eewyn smiles.

"Yeah. You'd have to be an idiot to lose to me. Or slow. Or…I don't know. But I'd need a weapon to kill _anybody_."

"Well, we only have the one knife, and I'm probably better with it than you are," I point out.

"Yeah, but you're also still worth something without it," Eewyn points out.

"Well…too bad. You're the brains remember? Let me worry about the knife," I answer.

"'Kay," Eewyn replies, and goes right back to looking at the sky. This time the silence strains on me first.

"You have a boyfriend back in Two?" I ask. Eewyn snorts and looks at me incredulously.

"_No_. Way too much work, and no payoff to speak of. What about you?"

I'm a little thrown off by her describing the benefits of having a boyfriend as "payoff", but I mostly ignore it.

"Nope," I say. "But we don't really do the whole…dating thing in District Four anyway. We're kind of more formal than that. We mostly have courtships. Serious courtships. If you see two kids holding hands, they're probably thinking about getting married. Of course, nobody's really interested in me. Most men want a housewife, not…" I don't bother finishing. No use in feeling sorry for myself. Eewyn doesn't reply. Not much to say to that anyway. I'm too strong-headed. Of course, it's not like there aren't a lot of tough fisherwomen in District 4, it's just that no one's interested in marrying one. But what do I need with a husband? I can take care of myself, and no husband means no children, so I'll be able to keep helping my parents care for my siblings. We don't need any more mouths to feed.

I tell myself this every time I begin feeling sentimental. I usually convince myself. Today is not one of those times.

"Well, now you might not have to worry about it," Eewyn says grimly.

"And just when I thought the mood couldn't get any worse," I say.

We don't say anything more for a while, and when we do it's nothing important. As we sit and wait it grows dark, and before I know it I fall sleep. When Eewyn shakes me awake, the sun has long since gone by, and the anthem is ringing, although not loudly enough to wake me up on its own.

There's one face. Kind of lonely, actually. It's the girl from District 11, which you can tell by her dark skin.

"Evita, I think that's her," Eewyn says quietly.

"Hm?" I mutter, still mostly asleep.

"There are bits of mostly-eaten plants around here, but no other types of food. Somebody who'd be confident enough to eat plants and only plants…I'm thinking Eleven. And the boy's already dead, so…" She trails off.

"Okay. I'll take your word for it," I grumble, "But why does that matter?"

"I think she was the one who scratched the numbers and all into the tree," she says.

"Oh. So I guess we don't need to wait here, then," I say.

"Mhm. But we can stay here until morning."

"Fine."

A long pause. The anthem has long since ended when Eewyn grabs the knife from my side and stands up. Almost asleep again, I turn to her groggily.

"What are you doing?" I mumble.

"I figure that if this is her spot, then those numbers in the tree must be her doing too. If she's been keeping a memorial, then she deserves to be memorialized too." Eewyn's voice is set and decided. I've never heard her so…stoic before.

"Look, Wynnie," I say tiredly. She doesn't even look back at the sarcastic nickname. "It's more likely she was just trying to keep track of who was dead."

"I guess so. But all the same…" I hear the quiet sound of the knife against the bark and Eewyn's small sounds of concentration as she etches into it.

Whatever. I'm going to sleep.

**Surviving Contestants:**

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Hary Lumer (Hawr-ee Loo-mur)

Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: None

District 4: Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: None

District 7: None

District 8: Caspian Toushone (Cas-pee-in Too-shown)

Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)

District 9: None

District 10: None

District 11: None

District 12: None


	24. Interference

**A/N**- Gack! That update took forever. but NaNoWriMo's done now, so I'm back to writing. And I made you all virtual cookies for your patience! On and administrative note, I'd like to thank Laeve for betaing this for me. I also have something else to announce. When I first published S2, I had intended to call it Starvation 2: Reprise. However, I was so excited to publish I, er, forgot the subtitle. I mentioned it to one of my friends, who suggested I go ahead and just change it now. So I shall. Next time I update, the name will be changed.

**Chapter 23**

**Baylyn Homer, District 1**

Adrian didn't offer any information on the girl who died last night. Usually he makes some comment, but tonight he just rolled over. I think he's trying to avoid thinking about it. I don't blame him. The numbers are getting far too low now. There are only eight of us, some of whom might be dangerous. At this point in the Games everyone is competition - at least to some degree.

I glance over at Hary where he is lying at the other side of the area we've chosen to sleep in tonight. I have no doubt that sometime soon he will either leave or Adrian will make him leave. I don't think Adrian would kill him directly after we've been allies, but I'm sure he isn't going to put him before us. I'd say Adrian is going to give him an ultimatum tomorrow morning.

I inch closer to Adrian. He's been acting a bit odd, but it's just because he's worried. He deserves to get some sleep, so I volunteer to take first watch. He looks over his shoulder at me briefly when I touch his back and smiles before rolling back onto his side. I flip over onto my back.

The Final Eight interviews would have been aired tonight, assuming they followed the same pattern as last year's interviews. I wonder if they were cruel enough to film an interview with that girl's parents before it was broadcast that she died. I wouldn't put it past them. Although, maybe her parents would have liked it that way.

I look at the stars. They're one of the few things I enjoy about the arena; they're so beautiful. And then there's that smudgy spot. It's kind of interesting to see the bright sharpness of the stars contrast with the smoky streak. I wonder what makes it the way it is. Yes, the stars make the arena beautiful in at least one way. I guess you really can find some sort of positive in any situation.

What are the other positives? I can make a game out of this, I suppose. Not much else to do on guard duty.

Adrian, of course, is another. That one pretty much speaks for itself.

Also, there's the opportunity for a victor's pension. At a huge price, yes, but it still might offer me the chance to change things back home. That's something of a mixed blessing, I suppose.

I think I've learned some things about myself. I guess that's a little hard to define, but it's true. You learn something about yourself no matter what happens, but when it's something…special like this, you learn some really different things about yourself. That's another mixed blessing.

I'm hard pressed to think of a third one. Let's see. I'm…keeping my weight down? Not that that's a real problem for me.

All joking aside, there have been some benefits to being reaped. Of course, I'd trade it all in a second if it meant I could go home.

Well, that's not really true. It would be, if it weren't for Adrian. I wouldn't want to give up knowing him. I suppose if it meant he would be safe and not in the arena then I'd wish him home, but still.

I give up trying to analyze my arena experience. It's too confusing. There are too many strong emotions involved to really think about the pros and cons logically.

I really should be focusing on watch. Just because nothing has happened yet doesn't mean that it won't.

Watch is following its usual, boring routine for most of my shift. I'm just about to wake Adrian up and tell him it's his turn for a couple of hours when I hear a strange sound.

I sit up quickly, wincing a little at the pain that's still stubbornly taking residence in my ribs. What is that? It doesn't really sound like anything I've ever heard before. No, wait. It does. It's wind. But it doesn't sound right at all. It sounds more like a big ball of wind grew legs and started walking around. Which, knowing the arena, might actually be possible.

"Adrian! Adrian!" I mutter, shaking his arm. He mumbles something I can't understand and sits up groggily.

"Wha'sit? Wha's going on?" he grumbles.

"I don't know. But it's heading towards us, whatever it is," I say, pointing in the general direction of the sound. Adrian is immediately more awake. He rubs his eyes once to brace himself before he stands up and helps me to my feet.

"Hary," he barks. The blond boy wakes up grudgingly, but at least he's up.

"Okay. Let's move," Adrian orders.

"Where?" Hary asks.

"Away from whatever it is. Even if it's following us, it'll give us a little more time," Adrian says. He starts to rush me off. I can sort of walk on my own now, but not as fast as he's going. It's a bit painful, but nothing I can't deal with.

It becomes evident after a few minutes that the whatever-it-is is following us. Although now I'm pretty sure it's wind. I glance over my shoulder and almost gasp in surprise. It's not just wind; it's also some kind of dust cloud. I don't think it's going to turn out to be friendly, either.

While I'm thinking I probably ought to watch where I'm walking or I'm going to trip, I get a much better excuse to fall: the ground opens up underneath me.

I yelp as my foot goes down a black hole where the ground should be. I lurch back desperately, trying not to fall down into the unknown hole. Between a combination of my own efforts and Adrian's fast reflexes, I fall backward instead of forward. Both of us end up landing on Hary, but he doesn't seem too badly squished.

So much for the arena being boring. As far as I can see, the whole thing has opened up into a grid pattern. The Gamemakers apparently had a little more planned than I thought.

We roll off of Hary, muttering apologies that he waves away; and we turn to face the now-loud whistling noise. I'd say we have a little more than twenty seconds until it gets here.

I whirl around and Adrian follows suit. We're scanning the horizon. That dust storm is going to be here any second; we don't have enough time to run away. It stretches as far as I can see in either direction, and with the ten-foot gaps between squares of arena floor.

"What are we going to-" I begin in panic, whipping around to look at Adrian. I scream. Hary is holding the knife above his head; about to plunge it into Adrian's back. I yank Adrian out of the way, almost sending us both falling into the black hole behind us. At that moment the storm reaches us, slamming into Hary- and stops.

He howls in pain. His hands - the only things left outside of the storm - drop the knife, which falls to the ground with a thud. I can hear my heart pounding. The storm has stopped. Why? It must be the Gamemakers. They're only interested in killing one of us off right now, I guess. Well, they're doing a good job of it.

I can barely see Hary three feet away from me because the dust storm is so thick. Tiny pieces of grit escape the impeccably engineered wall of dust, but what I can see is tainted is with red. His hands - still lying outside of the storm - have blood running down them. He's screaming horribly and the dust around him looks ominously red. Adrian and I stand frozen with horror until Hary's screams gurgle to silence and the winds fly backwards and away from us.

A thick layer of dirt and sand has accumulated on Hary. As the storm winds are sucked away, the abrupt silence seems to be settling to the ground just as much as the grit.

"Is- is he dead?" I whisper hoarsely to Adrian.

"I don't know. I'll check," he replies.

His voice is low, but steadier than mine. He crosses the short distance to where Hary lies and kneels. He rolls him over, cringing with disgust as Hary's blood sticks to his hands. He's mostly coated with dust from the storm, but since he fell face down his stomach is intact. It's pretty obvious he's dead, but Adrian feels his wrist and neck for a pulse anyway. I stare at his body. Maybe we weren't so close, but he tried to betray us! How could he? The disgust I feel rising makes me want to throw up. It looks like the storm ripped his skin off in layers, letting him bleed out. Adrian drops Hary's arm unceremoniously and wipes his hand on his pants.

"Definitely dead," he says, spitting something onto the ground. Probably some grit that got into his mouth a minute ago. We stare at our fallen ex-ally for a moment before the pieces of land abruptly swing back up and lock into place with a click. I blink.

The ground has fit back together seamlessly; the trap doors completely vanished. Maybe the Gamemakers designed the arena so flat just so they could use this one trick. It _has _been their best one so far. I know I'll never be able to look at the ground the same way again. Every step I take in the arena I'll be afraid of it opening up beneath my feet.

As Adrian picks up the knife, he gives Hary's corpse a look of intense loathing, "Come on, Baylyn. We need to keep moving."

"O-okay," I stutter. Adrian hooks his arm under my shoulders and I put my arm around his neck. I can't help looking back as we hobble off. I could walk on my own now, I'm sure, but Adrian seems to be in a hurry.

"Wh-where are we going?" I pant. Adrian shrugs sharply, causing a little spark of pain in my side as my arm is lifted up.

"Away. They need to pick up the body. And I don't know about you, but I'm not terribly fond of the idea of going back to sleep where Hary died anyway," he says. I can hear the anger in his voice. To Adrian, disloyalty is inexcusable. Hary betrayed us and I don't think Adrian will ever forgive him. Or…his memory, I guess.

"Oh, right. I hadn't thought about that," I mutter. He's right; I couldn't get to sleep there. And I'm finally done with my watch, too. We're silent for a moment.

"Are you okay, Adrian?" I ask after a moment.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," he sighs. He's not really fine. He's not even 'fine' by arena standards. But he won't admit that. He thinks it's his job to be the strong one. He doesn't have to be all the time, but he's not going to see that; so it's better if I don't bother him about it.

Once Adrian thinks we're far enough away he pulls his arm off my shoulders helps me lower myself onto the ground.

"I can do it now, I think," I tell him. He shrugs; apparently he'd rather not risk it. I lay on my back as he sits down himself. I curl up on my side, twisting my fingers into the fabric of his shirt. He puts his arm around me; at least some things never change.

**Evita Cormichael, District 4**

Eewyn shrieks and for a moment I don't know why, but then I realized I'm walking on nothing. I feel myself pinwheel in shock for a moment until I feel her grip the back of my shirt. Goodness knows that tiny Eewyn Carre is not going to be strong enough to pull me to safety, and so my body snaps into action even before I ask it to. My fingers claw desperately for a handhold, finally finding Eewyn's ankle and a knot in the ground.

My legs swing for a moment before slamming against the square of turf that has fallen out beneath me. It acts like it has a hinge, but I don't see one. Oh, well. I have more important things to think about right now.

Eewyn sits down with a grunt, twisting her finger into the grass to root herself more firmly in her spot. Even now she's being pulled slowly toward the edge. I'm too heavy.

I grab onto another knot in the ground instead of her foot, and almost immediately lose my grip. Luckily, Eewyn grabs my hand. Struggling to stand, she digs her heels as deeply into the ground as she can. I grip her hands for dear life, trying to ignore the slick of sweat I can feel collecting on my palms. As Eewyn painfully pulls me a little farther, a little farther, a little farther onto the ledge, I try to get up. I try hooking my knee over the ledge, but I'm not quite able to. I try a series of fruitless kicks to swing my body up, but it only interrupts Eewyn's pulling. I go limp, and wait in agony as she inches me toward safety.

_Find a happy place, Evita. Just find a happy place. Don't think about your teeny little ally being the only thing stopping you from falling to certain death. Oh, man. Oh, man…_

_No, Evita! Just think about… fishing. Yeah, fishing is good. Fishing is safe. Well, no it's not, but it's safer than this._

_Think about the waves. Think about the way a boat feels when it bobs in the water on a sunny day. Familiar. Think about the way the ocean salt chases away the city's stink. Think about eating fresh fish when there's no patrol boat in sight._

_Think about coming home and having a fight with Shesanna; the kind of fight that will blow over as soon as one of us storms out of the room. The kind we'll laugh at ten minutes later. Think of Reish, always smiling or just too serious for his age. Just think of home, Evita. Think of home. You'll see it again soon._

Suddenly, I feel my hips pop over the ledge. I immediately let go of Eewyn's hands and she falls down on her butt again. I kick my legs, scraping forward just far enough to pull myself onto the ground. I lunge forward again until my feet are on solid ground; and then I collapse, adrenaline deserting me. Eewyn and I lie on the ground for a moment in relief, panting. Well, there you have it. We're alive for now. Take that. And by the way, I plan to keep it this way.

**Surviving Contestants:**

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: None

District 4: Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: None

District 7: None

District 8: Caspian Toushone (Cas-pee-in Too-shown)

Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)

District 9: None

District 10: None

District 11: None

District 12: None


	25. Out on Your Own

**A/N**- 'Ello folks. It's looking like I will _not _have the Starvation 3 reapings ready by the end of this, so would you rather I finish them, leaving a big gap between the end of this but ensuring super fast updates between them once I'm done, or do you want me to just post them as I write them?

**Chapter 24**

**Caspian Toushone, District 8**

"I like aminals," Roe informs me. Again.

"A_n_i_m_als, Roe," I sigh. "N, then m. Not the other way around."

"Uh… yeah. Can I pet a kitty?" she asks.

Man, she smells bad. She did even before we got in here. They drenched her in perfume for the chariot ride, but you could _still _smell her. Now, after weeks in the arena (had it been weeks? It felt like it…) and no real opportunity to bathe… Well, her stupidity has real competition for the number one reason I hate her.

"No, Roe, there are no kitties here. And even if there are, they'll be muttation kitties that want to kill you," I said with a sigh.

"Kitties're soft," Roe mumbles, eyes zoned out. "They… sweet."

"Cats 'are' sweet, Roe," I sighed. As she muttered another verb-less sentence I finally just gave up, "Okay, forget I said anything."

"Can we have a sandwich?" Roe mumbled.

"I wish," I snorted. "But we're in the arena, Roe, and we-"

Suddenly I'm falling into the ground. No, the ground is opening under me. I shout in alarm, grasping at bumps in the ground. I finally get a handhold on a strong, thick patch of grass. Unfortunately, I have the distinct impression that this won't be enough to hold me once all my weight is hanging from it. All of a sudden, though, the slab of ground bumps to a stop, still at a steep angle to the ground above, but not hanging loose like I thought it would be. I look wildly from side to side. A tree root, of all things, has become wedged in the hinge, keeping the trap door from opening all the way and me from losing my grip on the grasses. I don't think I've ever loved a tree so much before.

I try to dig my toes into the ground, but the only things close to footholds are the small bumps on the ground that make sleeping a real pain if you bed down in the wrong spot. None of them are quite big enough to be of much help, but I at least get a moment to adjust my hold on the wiry grasses and try to slow my pounding heart.

I slowly reach for the root. If I can get a hold of it I can pull myself up, I'm sure. I'm strong enough. But the root stays just beyond my grasp. I stretch for it again, but I feel my foot slip off the knot in the ground. I swear, grabbing the grass again and holding onto it for dear life.

"Roe!" I hiss, my voice too ragged to be a real shout. It feels like if I call too loudly I'll somehow make myself fall. That doesn't make any sense, but I'm a little too busy almost dying to worry about whether or not I'm being rational.

"Roe!" I repeat, more loudly this time. I didn't see her fall through the hole, so she must have been far enough behind me to be safe.

"Roe!" I call. Now I'm really shouting. A note of hysteria has slithered its way into my throat, making my voice crack slightly.

Slowly, I see her dirty blond hair peak over the edge, muddy eyes wide with fear.

"Roe," I say hoarsely. "I need your help, okay? Go over to the tree over there."

She just stares at me dumbly, mouth hanging slightly open.

"Please, Roe!" I growl, arms beginning to shake with the strain of supporting me.

"Just trust me. I've protected you this whole time, okay? I'm not going to let anything happen to you. But without me, you're in trouble. So just come on, Roe."

Slowly, she begins to inch forward, down the slope. "No!" I caution. She jumps. "Go to the _tree, _Roe."

One thing about having a stupid ally: they're too dumb to betray you, but they're also too dumb to be of much help.

Roe stands uneasily by the tree.

"Okay," I say, my voice low and soothing. "Now I want you to grab a hold of the tree trunk. Nice and tight. Go on, grab it." Roe slowly lowers herself to the ground, wrapping her arms around the trunk.

"No, just grab it with both hands," I say, my voice wavering. She obeys, looking miserable. "Okay. Now lay down on your stomach on the edge of the piece of floor. Make sure to hold on to the tree," I say. Roe begins to, but pulls back with a whimper.

"No, no, no. I can't!" she whimpers.

"Roe!" I beg. "Please!"

She wails, still hugging the trunk. "I can't, I can't. Gonna fall!"

"Roe!" I bark. "You're not going to fall! Please, I've protected you this whole time! _I'm not going to let you fall_. Help me!"

She shakes her head vehemently, nose running and tear tracks down her face, "No!"

I'm dumbfounded. I mean, I knew Roe was stupid and cowardly, but this is… After all I've done for her, she's just going to let me fall? I can't believe she would-

My foothold crumbles under my weight, dirt falling down into the abyss below me. I guess it really hits me now. Roe is going to let me die. After I spent this whole Games protecting her, making sure she was safe - even though I hated her - she won't do a thing. Roe Tamden's cowardice is going to be the death of me.

"You ungrateful little b- how could you?" I growl, "How could you?"

She shrinks back, still crying. If I thought I knew what hating somebody (even Roe Tamden) felt like before this, I was dead wrong. Now I don't just want to get up this little hill to save my own life, I want to ring her neck and toss her corpse down into whatever the Gamemakers have hidden under the ground. I want to kill her.

"I hope you die," I seethe, teeth clenched. "I hope Wesley gets his hands on you and tears you into a million little pieces! I hope the Gamemakers poison you! I hope the stupid whatever-it-was in the river drowns you- slowly! I- I hope-" And I'm somewhat surprised that I really can't think of anything painful enough to subject her to.

Before I have any more time to think something up, the tough grass finally snaps under my weight. I slide down the ground, screaming, and I'm swallowed up. Gone.

**Roe Tamden, District 8**

Not my fault, not my fault, not my fault. I didn' make him fall. Not my fault. Uh-uh. Caspian's angry, but not my fault.

Not my fault he fell. Uh-uh. If I tried to go get him, I would've felled. He said I was gonna be safe, but he liar. He was probably gonna kill me. Yeah. He would. Caspian don't like me. He mean. Not my fault, not my fault.

The ground closed up. No more hole. I'm glad 'cause the hole was scary. Yeah. I didn't like it.

I wish Caspian was here. I miss him. I don't like bein' alone. I miss Caspian like when my kitty ran away. Kitties aren't so cranky cause they're kitties. Kitties aren't cranky.

Grass is all squished now. Yeah. Somebody walked over it all. Uh…

**Wesley Sawr, District 1**

I've always hated heights, now I remember why.I landed safely, but it was mostly luck. The ground opened up under my feet, so in all rights I should have fallen.

Luckily, I landed sitting on the edge of the ground, with my feet bumping against the slab of ground now hanging into space. My heart was pounding, but I was alive. After I scrambled safely away from the edge of the hole, it was pretty easy to simply sit back and wait for the ground to close up; which it did, eventually. It took probably six of the robos with it, but there are still more than enough of them to keep me in line.

I am being incarcerated by squirrels, aren't I? It's not very manly, if you ask me.

I massage the side of my stomach, where the kid stabbed me a while back. It seems like it ought to be more serious, but it's really just sore. I wonder if it would be possible to rip it open again. I hope not, or I bet the robos will try to kill me that way at some point.

For a while, I wish I could remember his name. Clearly, he was tougher than he looked. He fought me and he managed to leave a relatively impressive slash in my side. I can respect that, even without liking it all that much. He must have come pretty close to killing me. For a kid with his size and his experience, that's actually kind of impressive. At least I'd had experience wrestling around with bullies. Everybody does, in the poorer part of town. My nose wrinkles.

If there's anyone in the world I hate right now, it's not the Capitol, strangely enough. I mean, they can't _all_ be as bad as their leaders. Back during the reaping and the interviews most of them just seemed like idiots. They couldn't mastermind something like the Hunger Games even if they tried. Though their leaders, they have reason to be mad. Not at District 1, or 2, or 7; but at all the others, all of the Districts who rebelled. I'd like to give them what they deserve for involving the six kids who had nothing to do with the rebellion, but I do believe they earned the right to punish everyone else.

No, it's not the Capitol I hate. Or at least, that I hate the most. It's the rich people in District 1.

I live in the "lower-class" part of District 1. Which is sort of a warm and fuzzy way of saying I live in the slums. But the rich people don't even pussyfoot around it, just the Capitol. The rich jerks up in the north of the District seem to think _we're _the problem, somehow. "Slummy". "Problem". "Disgrace to the name of District One". They seem to think the crime of being poor gives them a perfectly valid reason the call you any and all of these names; on more or less a daily basis. The only way to be safe is never to leave the slums.

I think of how the last four kids chosen from the Games, including me, have all been poor. It's not fair, and it doesn't seem quite right. I know the poor part of town is a heck of a lot bigger than the rich part of town, but I can't shake my suspicions. I bet those rich daddies and their trophy wives bribed the Capitol to keep their children's names out of the reaping ball. Wouldn't surprise me. After all, they would be protecting their little darlings and getting rid of a few "slummy dogs" at the same time. How neat and tidy. I hate them, even more so now than back at home. When I win, they're going to pay for it.

The idea flares in the back of my mind, like a lamp turned on and then off almost immediately. If I win, I become untouchable. The victors are the Capitol's darlings, or at least Wrianin Abro is. The second victor would get the same deal, wouldn't they? I bet I could do anything I wanted to and just get a slap on the back of the hand for the benefit of the general public. So when I win, I'll have more power than any of those CEOs ever will. A smile spreads over my face. I'll kill them, or one of them.

I decide almost immediately on Platinum Reinhart. After he laid off my father last year, things got a lot harder at home. The question is how to do it. I doubt I'd get all the way through his office without being stopped and searched for weapons. So, break into his house, then? I guess so. I'd just better be careful so I don't end up killing his wife or one of his daughters by mistake. That wouldn't be much help.

I smile again, lying down to watch the clouds. This could be fun.

One of the robos chitters in anger as I almost crush it. I jump up, holding out my hands in apology. "Sorry, sorry! Don't kill me."

I really do think that's their job now. I had one chance to work _with _the Gamemakers, when they gave me Chip. Now that I turned that down, I work _for _them. And I'm a tool like any other. I scorned them, so now they'll dispose of me at their soonest convenience. Well, I have something to say to them about that. Give it to me. I'm ready.

"Alright then, boys," I say loudly. "What's on the agenda today? Or should I say, _who _is?"

**Surviving Contestants:**

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: None

District 4: Evita Cormichael (Eh-vee-tuh Core-michael)

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: None

District 7: None

District 8: Roe Tamden (Row Tam-dan)

District 9: None

District 10: None

District 11: None

District 12: None


	26. Close

**A/N**- Sorry for the wait, but I've been having beta issues. Would anybody like to step up...? Please? Anyway, I had to proofread this myself, so I apologize for all the errors it will be riddled with.

**Chapter 25**

**Wesley Sawr, District 1**

The robos aren't moving too fast. I wish I knew what that implied. Are they taking me all the way to the other side of the arena, and think I need a slower pace to keep my stamina up? Are they taking me to confront someone who's actually relatively formidable and need me at full strength? I don't think so. It seems to me they'd want to have their two strongest, most willing kids fight the final battle. Keep up the suspense and all.

I'm not sure who the most willing are anymore. Me, obviously. And who else? I'm not even sure who's still alive, who's armed, who's made close allies they wouldn't be willing to kill.

Doesn't matter. Assuming my hypothesis is right, I'll have a chance to find out during the recaps, once I'm done with the final battle. If I don't walk away from the final battle… won't matter all that much, now will it?

I crack my neck and knuckles as I run. It won't help at all to be stiff, even if I am fighting one of the underdogs. I found out the hard way that even little dogs have bite.

Assuming I am being escorted to a fight. But… what else would be going on? I'm not good for all that much else.

The grass is mostly trampled down now. It's easier to see the tricky little contours in the land that offered us protection. The grass is still slightly damp with this morning's dew, or maybe tomorrow's dew already collecting, since it's getting colder, soaking through the toes of my shoes. All in all, it doesn't look like the most likely slaughterhouse. It looks like a pretty boring landscape: maybe some grazing land in District 10. I never did pay much attention in Inter-District Studies, and then when they cut them during the rebellion, I lost pretty much everything I'd known about the other Districts. I remembered 10, though, because it had always stuck out to me as being just so much grass and cows.

I wonder vaguely if we're really in District 10. I'd guess no. The curve of the land is ridiculously clever: no way that's natural. And it seemed to me like it would have been a lot of work to insert trapdoors into the actual ground. Too much work.

What do they do with a used arena, I wonder? The one from last year looked pretty much natural. Is it just chained off to sit until Panem falls? We'll run out of land eventually, that way.

Suddenly the Robos split. I stop for a moment, confused, before I catch sight of a small black figure on the horizon. Definitely a person, although I'm too far away to tell who. Looks like they're alone, although it could be two people walking very close together, or someone whose ally is… lying down for whatever reason.

What? It could happen.

I smile at the Robos, who've lined up behind me and now sit with their queer lack of movement. I turn and sprint toward the figure, not bothering to be stealthy. Stealth at this point is probably impossible.

Which doesn't even seem to be a problem, since the person is, for whatever reason, not even trying to run away. They've turned toward me, and I'm pretty sure now that they're alone. They know I'm not a returning ally. So why aren't they trying to escape?

As I get closer, I see it's a girl. I recognize her vaguely, but what really sticks out to me is the way she's smiling. What is she smiling about.

"Umm…" she says as I approach. I don't wait to see what she was planning to put after "umm", because I slice across her throat and stomach. Two neat, clean lines open in her flesh, leaking almost immediately with blood. She makes a horrible little strangled sound and falls to the ground. Her body jitters for a moment, and then she's still.

"Well," I mutter to myself. "That was easy."

**Evita Cormichael, District 4**

"Let me see the knife," Eewyn says, sticking out her hand. I raise my eyebrow.

"Why? Not like you can do anything with it," I pointed out.

"Exactly. If something happens to you I want to be able to defend myself, at least a little bit," she says matter-of-factly. I shrug and hand it to her. She fiddles around with it for a moment, but it's clear she hasn't got the foggiest idea as to what she's doing. I roll my eyes.

"No, no. Hold it like _this_," I correct, adjusting her grip. She nods and swipes at the air, brow furrowed with almost comical concentration.

"You gotta be faster than that," I inform her. "Knife fighting is hard. You've got to be in pretty close to your opponent, which means that… you know." I figured that the dangers of being within stabbing distance to someone who wanted to kill you were more or less self-evident. "So you have to be faster than whoever it is you're fighting. If not, you won't make it."

"How would you know?" She asks me, looking a little annoyed. Eewyn was the brains. She didn't like being lectured by the brawns.

"I've done a lot more stabbing than you have," I point out. She shrugs, grudgingly.

"So how would you stab someone?" She asks. I smirk. I like seeing her as the one being bossed around. It's a nice change. She hasn't even managed to slip in any sarcasm yet, which is almost surprising.

"Like this," I say, and demonstrate quickly. I'm no expert, sure, but my way is still better. Eewyn's wrist had a twist to it that was slowing her strikes down.

I wonder how the Gamemakers really expect us to do much interesting killing. I mean, some of the kids here could probably figure out vaguely how to work a bow like that To girl from District 3 last year, but the fact is we really don't know what we're doing. How would we? We haven't been trained for this, not really. I mean, some of the bullies might know how to fight if they got reaped. Maybe some of the kids might have worked with something sharp back in their District. The fact is, we don't know. And sooner or later the Capitol's going to need a new way to torture us, one that tops the Hunger Games. I shudder to imagine what that's going to be like.

I give the current arrangement ten years. Ten years to work out all the kinks and perfect the process. They still have some problems, I'm sure. Not so many as last year, though. Last year they couldn't make those last five or six kids kill each other. They lasted for weeks in there, slowly starving to death. The Capitol citizens got bored. That's what really makes me mad. They got bored. It's not enough to see children die painfully, forced to become murderers. They need them to be "entertaining" while they do it. My lip curls.

I'm not pretending I'm a saint. I've killed people, both directly and by refusing to help them. I don't deny that I'm a murderer. But the difference is, I didn't choose this. This was forced on me. But these people in the Capitol… they have nothing to gain. This isn't self-defense. The Districts have already been beaten into submission, but they just keep going. There's no reason for it, except their own selfishness. They only want to satisfy their own boredom, their own bloodlust. People like them are unforgivable: They're the sort of people who believe no one else matters.

I may not be the warm and fuzzy type. I'm not particularly easy to get on with. But I know that there are people who need me. I know that I can't just do whatever I feel like. All the days I just wanted to sock one of my siblings in the mouth, I didn't. Every time my mother implied I needed to start considering husbands unless I wanted to end up an old maid, I gritted my teeth, knew she only wanted the best for me, and tried not to mouth off.

There's been a lot in this life I haven't wanted to do. I'm not complaining about it; it's the truth and I can face that just fine. But the fact is, I did it. I can do things I don't want to if I know it'll make things better to do them. But the people in the Capitol won't. They're the sort who will only ever hurt the world and the people in it. They will always put themselves first, at the expensive of everyone and everything else. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a selfish person.

"This better?" Eewyn asks, twisting the knife in midair with a very determined expression on her face. I snicker and she sticks out her tongue.

"Yeah, looks fine," I answer. Eewyn smiles a little and hands the knife back to me. I sit down, cross-legged, and put the knife next to me. Eewyn sits down as well before rolling onto her stomach and resting her chin on her hands. We sit in silence.

"What you going to do with the money if you win?" I ask. Eewyn shrugs.

"I… really don't know. I don't know what I'd do with my life if I won, actually. I guess I'd just try to help the kids who came after me. I think I'd be good at that," she says.

"Wow. Sounds like you're going sentimental, Wynnie," I tease.

"Don't worry. I could still kick your butt blindfolded with both hands tied behind my back," she says. I snort, because we both know it's a lot of bravado and bluster. I highly doubt that Eewyn Carre could take me in a fair fight. Actually, there aren't many people left she could probably take in a fair fight. But I don't bring that up.

"Sure, Eewyn. Whatever you say," I sigh. We sit in silence for a long time.

"What would you do if you died? Right here, right now?" She asks abruptly.

"Well, I'd be _dead_, Eewyn. I wouldn't be doing much of anything," I point out, raising an eyebrow. Eewyn waves a hand dismissively.

"Okay, fine. If you were mortally wounded right now, and were dying slowly?" She clarifies. I shrug.

"I don't know. I guess I'd try to kill whoever it was that had hurt me."

"What if it was a Gamemaker trap?" She asks.

"Then… I'd try to do something memorable before I went down," I say. "How about you?"

Eewyn frowns and looks down at the ground between her elbows. For a little while I think the question has somehow offended her, but then she looks up. "I don't know that I would do anything," she says finally.

"What?" I laugh. "Why not?"

"What good would it do?" She asks. "I mean, I'd already be dying. Why make the pain any worse by fighting against it? Sounds like an awful lot of misery I could save myself from by simply dying quietly."

Silence again for a few moments before Eewyn muses, "Maybe I'd say my last goodbyes."

"I wouldn't have time," I chuckle. I don't know if I'd even have time to list off everybody's names before I bled out, or whatever. It'd have to be a really slow killing… whatever."

Eewyn chuckles. I look at her silently for a moment, thinking, before I ask, "Why are you suddenly so fascinated with death, Eewyn?"

"Because it's probably so close. I mean, we're down to the last eight or so, right? That's supposed to be important in the Hunger Games, the final eight. It's really… close to the end. One way or the other, we don't have much time left in the arena."

I frown, not too pleased she'd bring that up. It's more than a little unpleasant. "Yeah, okay. I'm taking a nap, Eewyn. Wake me up for the anthem."

"Evita," she whispers, shaking my shoulder. I almost just slap her and go back to sleep, but then I remember that she's waking me up for the anthem, which I certainly don't want to miss. I sit up groggily. I force my eyes open, rubbing the gunk out of them.

One face in the sky. A girl. Really ugly girl. I remember her, of course, although not her name. She was the stupid one who went around bothering everybody else back in the holding center before the Games. Poor kid. She belonged here even less than the rest of us.

Next, a boy. Pretty unassuming. I don't really remember him, but I realize the implications. Down to six now, assuming Eewyn's kept track correctly. I expect she has, since it was her job to-

Suddenly, a biting pain burrows into my back. I tense, stunned. Very slowly I turn, wincing as something is pulled out of my back.

Eewyn stands over me, my knife bloody in her hands. Her white-blond hair falls in a dirty curtain, obscuring most of her face. "W-wha…" I stutter. I know exactly what's going on, of course. Eewyn Carre has just murdered me. But somehow that basic little sentence still doesn't make sense.

"There were too few of us, Evita. It had to happen. I had to make it happen first," she says simply. Her voice is low and emotionless. There's nothing there of her sarcasm, her sudden spurts of optimism, her eccentricity. She's just a machine with a knife. Which I wish I could really believe, because it would be considerably less painful than facing her betrayal.

I fall back, feeling the sick, clammy blood spread down my back. I find myself surprised I'm not doing any of the things I said I would only a couple of hours ago. I meant them when I said them. But I guess saying and doing are two very different things.

I had expected that in the Hunger Games I would need to fight, feel pain, and maybe die. But to be stabbed by Eewyn Carre… this I did not see coming. But I guess I shouldn't be surprised. She's always been just as ruthless as I was. She was the one who ordered me to kill, planned strategy, kept us fighting. Why should this be different? When you fall in with killers- and become one yourself –what else can you really expect?

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

Baylyn Homer (Bay-lin Ho-mur)

District 2: Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: None

District 4: None

District 5: Adrian Martinez (Ay-dree-un Mar-tee-nez)

District 6: None

District 7: None

District 8: None

District 9: None

District 10: None

District 11: None

District 12: None


	27. Duet

**A/N**- Thanks to ForeverAdrian for betaing this chapter for me.

**Chapter 26**

**Adrian Martinez, District 5**

_Day 15_

Baylyn's been quiet. I wish I knew what to say, but for once I can't think of anything that might cheer her up or take her mind off things. It's frustrating.

I have the feeling Baylyn's starting to sink into depression. Which is bad. Lat year's "victor" was more than a little traumatized after winning. The life he leads now, always in the public eye, hounded by Capitolites who don't even bother trying to understand what he went through, doesn't seem to help. If Baylyn has to face that, it won't be good if she leaves the arena already in bad shape.

But will she leave at all? There were two faces in the sky last night: the pair from District 8. I couldn't help wincing. They had to die, of course, for Baylyn or me to live, but it still feels like a more personal loss than any of the past ones. I guess saving Roe from that thing in the river was a waste of effort. But I really don't regret it. Caspian would have felt guilty if he'd let her die. It's a reminder to me that just doing your best to protect something is no guarantee that you'll be able to keep it safe. I'll have to be careful, very careful. And I'll also need a healthy dose of luck, because skill and dedication isn't enough to accomplish much of anything. At least, not when you've got Gamemakers who have the ability to knock off anyone at will. Well, more or less.

I find myself envying the tributes from last year. At least they could say that if they were smart enough and strong enough, they would probably win. But the Hunger Games have changed drastically this year. If you lose the favor of the Gamemakers or the Capitol they're trying to reassure, you probably lose your life. It would be hard to avoid being killed if they really wanted you dead.

But how do you know what they want from you? They want you to kill, of course, but they also want you to be broken. As much as showing how much power they hold over the Districts to throw us in the arena in the first place, they want to show how even winning doesn't exempt you from being within their influence to torture. I think they want people like Wrianin Abro, who have so obviously suffered even more thanks to winning. Although I suppose I could be wrong. Clearly, I'm not a Gamemaker.

Maybe they want people who will cope relatively well with the Games. They'd certainly be better poster children for murder and cruelty. If they can come out of it smiling, it might convince the Capitol people that there isn't something monstrous about that they're doing. Maybe it would be a comfort for the empty-headed hoi polloi.

Maybe they want both. That seems like the best bet to me. Have them both in stead, and just bring attention to whichever side of the Games they want to emphasize: A happy, successful person living in luxury, or a beaten-down shell of a "victor".

"Mph!" Baylyn grunts, stumbling a little on a knot in the ground. I steady her, snapped out of my reverie. I can think about the Capitol's bizarre motivations later. Right now, I have more important things to think about.

**Eewyn Carre, District 2**

Evita's gone. I heard the hovercraft leave with her body, although I couldn't bring myself to turn and watch. Feelings of conflicting guilt and a frightening hunger to posses that sort of power- the power that will get me home –tumble in my stomach.

Did I have the right to kill her? No. Do I regret doing it? Yes and no. If I don't win now, will I have turned myself into a real killer for nothing? Yes.

It feels like Evita is the first person I've hurt in these Games, which isn't true. I had killed people by ordering Evita to take care of them, or by not objecting when she wanted to, although I know she would have held back if I'd old her to. But Evita trusted me, enough that even my sudden interest in the use of knives didn't make her at all suspicious of me. She trusted me, and I stabbed her in the back as she watched the anthem.

I think of her family back home as I walk, head down. I wonder if her siblings will grow up hating me. I bet they will. Of course, her parents will never forgive me. Every time they see my face plastered all over a Capitol news source (which is what they call their celebrity gossip channels: news sources. No one in the Districts really watches them, but sometimes you'll see commercials in between segments of required viewing) they'll remember how I killed her.

It's not fair to either of us. It's unfair that they had to see their daughter die, but it's not fair of them to blame me wither. She was willing to kill. She was just like me: an innocent until ordered otherwise. But people… they don't see things that way. It doesn't matter the reason someone kills your daughter, just that she's _your daughter_. People are self-centered that way; their feelings are just more real to them than those of equal or greater fervor in someone else.

I run my hand through my hair. It's one big rat's nest at this point. If I win, I'm going to try to make sure the girl next year cuts her hair.

Dawn is starting to color the edge of the horizon. It must be about six in the morning, then? I'm not sure. High time for me to be getting some sleep, anyway, although without an ally to watch my back it's a dangerous activity.

I really wish I could have kept her around, but the numbers were just too low. With Evita gone, this is the last four kids. If I'm right, which I probably am, it's both from District 1, me, and the boy from 5. I wouldn't have pegged the girl as a contender, but the other two I can understand. And understanding them is important if I plan to kill them. Which I do. I run over what I know about them in my head.

_Wesley. Big, strong, and a favorite to win. However, he's also stupid and relies mostly on brute strength. Best way to beat him? Out-maneuver him, probably. I'll have be fast, but that I can do. If I could ambush him… no, this is the wrong arena for ambushes. I guess I'll just have to be a bit more nimble._

_B- Bo- aw, District 1 girl, whatever her name is. something of an anomaly. No idea what it is that's kept her alive this far. Probably luck. Probably a fairly easy victory. She doesn't seem like the fighting type._

_Adrian. Fast, and smart. Nowhere near as strong as Wesley, but has probably worked out a better fighting style, and a strategy beyond just charging stuff and hoping to get a knife into it. Might be a bigger difficulty, since he's more or less my equal in intelligence and strength. Will probably have to figure out a strategy as we fight (if we fight) so some diverse terrain would be nice… But again, wrong arena._

I sigh. If only I'd been reaped last year. I would have faired much better in a forest. Although perhaps not better than Flute, although her success was due mostly to Wrianin Abro taking her under his wing.

The tree rises up before me. The one Evita and I found. I run my hand along the rough bark and circle it, searching for the markings in the bark. It takes a couple rounds, but soon enough I catch sight of them, dim and indistinct in the low light of the rising sun.

D8B. _Scratch._

D8G. _Scratch._

D4… G. _Scratch._

I look at the last four groups of symbols before tucking my knife into my pocket. Soon, there will only be one.

I turn and leave the tree, wandering aimlessly. The Gamemakers will make sure I get wherever they need me, right?

**Baylyn Homer, District 1**

"I need to stop," I say, loosening my hold on Adrian's arm. He nods and helps me over to a tree, the first one we've seen in a while. Which is why I chose now, and here. I prop myself up against the trunk. I could stand on my own if I wanted to, but I don't. But then I rethink that. Maybe if he sees me standing up without anything to prop me up, it'll make this easier. I stand a little painfully, but have almost no trouble keeping my balance.

"Adrian," I say, trying to keep my voice from cracking, "I want to split up."

He looks up from his shoes, frowning. "What?"

"I want to split our alliance. Maybe we'll get lucky and we won't have to k- kill each other that way," I say. It makes me feel a little sick to stomach, but I know he won't have a chance if he has to face Wesley or something again while trying to defend me at the same time. It's for the best, as much as it hurts.

"Spli- you're joking," he says flatly. I bite my lip in frustration. This is going about as well as I had expected.

"Yes, I said split," I say, trying to remain patient. "You've got a much better chance without me."

Adrian's eyes flicker a little with realization, and he crosses his arms. "Oh, you're not starting up with _this_ again! Really, it's getting quite annoying."

I explode.

"But it's true! Why do you insist on denying it? You're not an idiot! I can't believe you haven't figured out how much better you'll do without me!"

"Did you never consider I might not care?" He says. He still doesn't seem to be taking this as seriously as I am. He sounds more mildly annoyed than actually angry. I almost want to punch him, or do anything to get him to think logically about this. "Maybe I'd rather risk having you around. Really, it's my choice."

"No it isn't! I'm not moving from this spot!" I say, angrily. I wince a little in my mind. I sound like a spoiled child, refusing to leave a store before her mother wastes precious money on a cookie or a doll. Of course, I am doing it so Adrian can have a better chance of surviving the next few days, rather than for my own selfish benefit, but the principle is the same.

"Okay, fine. We don't need to go anywhere," he says. "We can just wait here. Why should we leave?"

"Then… I'll kill myself," I growl. Adrian scoffs. He doesn't think I could do it. He might be right. I don't know if I could ever really wound myself, but I'm pretty much ready to try. "I'm not joking, Adrian," I growl. He looks at me a little more skeptically.

"Baylyn… why are you even doing this? Why are you so determined to get yourself killed?" He asks. Again, I get the overwhelming urge to smash his nose in. He knows. Of course he does. It's the same reason he refuses to leave me behind. But he wants me to say it.

"Because it has to happen anyway!" I shout. "Even if it's just you and me at the end, they don't let out two people. Remember last year? That group of friends- they refused to kill each other, because they just loved each other so much. But they still died. And you know what? I don't even know if I'd want to live after this. If you died-" I take a deep breath, trying to bring my voice back down to a more arena-friendly volume. "I'd blame myself forever."

Adrian starts to object, but I hold my hands up.

"I know what you're going to say, and it doesn't matter that it wouldn't really be my fault. If you get out, will it matter to you? Will you just be able to shrug it off?"

He doesn't answer. Of course not, because we both know he wouldn't. "Please. Just… go. Get out of here. And try to stay alive, for me."

Adrian looks at me for a long time, silently. He finally sighs.

"Give it up, Baylyn. I'm not going anywhere."

I grunt in frustration. That idiotic boy! In a spurt of anger, I stomp on his foot as hard as I can, before wincing at the pain it sends up through my ribs, and sitting hard on the ground.

"Ow," Adrian says, but he seems more mildly annoyed than anything. "What was that for?"

I push myself to my feet. "What was- you know what that was for!" I growl.

He's silent for a moment, and then makes a funny whuffling noise. It gets a little louder and shorter, and I realize he's laughing. "You- what are you laughing about?" I splutter.

"You!" He exclaims. "You just-"

I swear Adrian knows the tree is going to move almost before _it _does. He suddenly stops laughing, grabs my shoulder and throws me to the ground. As I fall, my first reaction is one of indignation, but then I hear the almost feathery whipping sound. The prehensile branch that would have wrapped around my throat snags Adrian's instead. Almost before I know what has happened, it rips itself out of the ground and is running across the trampled grasses, roots wiggling like tentacle legs.

The reality of the situation finally hits me, freeing me from a temporary paralysis, and I scream. I flounder to my feet and run clumsily after the tree. No. No, this can't be happening.

The tree is faster than I am, with my injury. A feeling of panic clamps over my stomach. Is it just going to keep going, until it disappears? Somehow that would be even worse. Some idiot part of me is shouting that he has to be alive. If he just vanishes… it won't seem real. It'll send me insane, I'm sure, knowing that he's gone but being unable to really quash the belief that he isn't.

Just when I'm convinced the tree will disappear over the horizon and be gone, it stops. The roots rear up and plunge into the ground, like knives stabbing into someone's chest. I don't stop running. I don't know if I'm close enough for my presence to make them hold the hovercraft. Finally, I arrive at the tree, and then all of a sudden the world is reduced to a blur on the edge of my vision. The golden brown of the grasses, the blue of the sky, the green of the scraggly branches, is all suddenly very pale and washed out. Artificial silence- even the sound of leaves rustling seems to have faded, but it's all in my head -presses in on my ear like a physical substance. Everything moves in slow motion. I'm numb and stupid, stumbling around the tree, searching for a sign that I have nothing left to live for. It should be a simple task, catching sight of his face or a foot through the thin branches, but my mind is not at its best, and it takes a moment to process everything my eyes rake over.

Suddenly, I find him where he's hanging. The total silence is replaced by the sound of my own heart, beating ever so slowly. I'm not really thinking as I move forward, my mouth hanging open ever so slightly. Adrian hangs there, looking far too still and quiet. His neck is at a very odd, stomach-turning angle, and I surmise it must have broken his neck before he could be strangled to death.

Like I'm dreaming, I feel my hand start to raise, about to brush his leg.

Suddenly the world stops moving slowly and Adrian falls from the tree impossibly fast. He's crumpled on the ground almost before I even notice the tree has released his neck. My strange numbness is replaced with an impossibly painful tearing sensation in my chest for a moment. Without thinking about it, I kneel. I doubt I'm really in charge of my body at the moment. Something has taken over me, moving me forward although I feel so frozen.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders, pulling his limp body close to mine. He's really not so heavy as far as boys go, but I'm weak enough that I can barely lift him.

I bury my face in his neck, letting my greasy hair fall across my face as much as it will when it's so stringy and dirty. I don't want those cameras watching me, broadcasting me so that everyone in Panem can see me, but leaving me totally alone at the same time.

I'm totally alone. And it's my fault.

All of a sudden, the world slams against me, and I'm physically knocked back by the force of my realization.

Adrian's body- _Adrian's body _–rolls off my lap. I scream. I scream and I turn and I run away, because I can't face this. I don't have the strength to face this.

I don't know how I find it in my battered body to run, either, but I do. My feet pound the ground and the pain in my side is demoted to a mild annoyance. I run in a haze, not seeing or caring where I could be going. I just want to get away from the ides that Adrian could be dead.

That stupid, stupid, _stupid _boy! How could he let himself die? I'm doomed without him anyway. The only way he could have helped me would have been to win. But dying for me… it will be hard to forgive him.

That intense pain is throwing itself around in my chest again. My fingers dig into the front of my shirt of their own volition. It's an animal instinct. When something is causing you so much pain and panic, you need to destroy it or escape it. I can't escape it, so my fingers claw at my heart, the root of the problem.

Suddenly my foot comes down unevenly; the ground seems to be tilting under me. I scream. The arena has opened up under me again. However, as I hit the ground and begin to roll down, I realize it's not the case after all. I would have fallen off by now. After a moment I roll to a stop. Sobbing, I push my torso up off the ground, not even bothering with an attempt to stand. I can barely make sense of the river stretching in front of me. The- the river? I can't have run this far… but obviously I did. It doesn't ever matter anymore.

What am I supposed to do? I guess I could drown myself, maybe. I'd have to swim out into the river to do that, though, and I doubt I have the strength. I'd probably just flounder around in the shallows for awhile and then be forced to crawl back on land, just as alive and twice as humiliated. No, drowning won't work. And in my infinite frenzied forethought, I left Adrian's knife behind when-

A sob wracks through my body, much harder than any before it. I collapse face first on the ground. Yes, this is what I'll do. I'll just lay here and cry. I'm sure the Gamemakers will find an efficient way to remove an unnecessary pawn such as myself from the Games. I'll just wait for them to do it.

_Oh, Adrian…_

I'm not sure how long it is until I hear someone walking down the side of the bank, slipping and sliding occasionally on loose gravel. I force my head up from he ground, feeling dirt and pebbles stick to my cheek. Wesley. I would have expected to feel angry with him. After all, it was his beating that made me so helpless in the first place. For some reason, my mind discards this as irrelevant. I'm so lonely, that it hardly matters what he's done to me. President Hellwick herself could come waltzing up to me, and I'd do what I do now. Instead of crawling away from Wesley or trying in vain to fight back, I sit up and wrap my arms around his neck, ignoring his knife, crying into his shoulder. I honestly don't care what he does to me anymore. If he holds me, maybe I'll feel less lonely to have someone here, even Wesley. If he kills me, I'll certainly stop feeling lonely. So either way, I can only gain from approaching him.

I've caught him off guard, I can see. He doesn't do anything for a moment; he neither stabs me, nor moves to comfort me. Slowly, he puts his arms around me.

It doesn't help very much, but he rocks me for a while, humming, and slowly my crying quiets. The pain in my heart really doesn't lessen, but at least I'm no longer sobbing so hard my chest and throat hurt as well.

"Sorry," Wesley murmurs, and all of a sudden I feel pain bite into my stomach. Because this is Wesley, his knife doesn't stop at my stomach, but is pulled up till a deep line is sliced into my torso all the way to the middle of my throat. But it doesn't really matter. What does?

District 1: Wesley Sawr (Wez-lee Sahr)

District 2: Eewyn Carre (Yew-in Cuh-ray)

District 3: None

District 4: None

District 5: None

District 6: None

District 7: None

District 8: None

District 9: None

District 10: None

District 11: None

District 12: None


	28. Mark in Bark

**A/N**- Wow. Here we are at the end of the Games. Well, not really the end, because I'll be covering post-Games events, but at the same time... this has been quite a ride. Now please enjoy the conclusion of the second Hunger Games.

**Chapter 27**

**Eewyn Carre, District 2**

Now that I'm here watching the anthem that tells me I have only one more opponent to kill until freedom, it's hard to believe it's real. It feels as fragile as if a butterfly landed on my hand. It's so light and delicate, and at any moment it might fly away and be gone forever. After everything I've done to get here, after everything I've become just so that I can win, the thought of not achieving it makes me sick. I have to win. Not because I deserve to live, but because I don't. I need some sort of justification for the things I've done, or I will never be able to live with myself.

I guess that's more selfishness right there: committing another murder just to justify to myself the ones I've already committed. But it doesn't matter. I've already crossed that line, more than once. I saw Wesley kill someone at the beginning; so the chance is that he's done the same. Maybe that makes what I'm doing now morally ambiguous. Neither of us deserves this, and since only one person can survive either way… Yes. I think at this point killing him won't make me any _more _evil.

Right?

I shove the thought away. Now is not the time for weakness. Now is the time for survival. Wesley S- Sawr (yes, I think that's his name) will not hesitate to kill me. So I can't hesitate to kill him. Strategy. I need a strategy.

He's stupid, and a brute, so my best chance is going to be my brains. Of course, even he is probably smart enough to pick up on that, so maybe I need to convince him that I've gone another route to throw him off. Yes, I'll fool him. I'll pretend to be trying to take him down with brute force, but in reality I'll outsmart him. Just as it should be.

I drum my fingers against my leg. It's amazing how far I've come in the few minutes since the anthem showed those two faces. Now I'm filled with purpose. Now I'm going to win. I hope.

_Okay. Okay, Eewyn. Think brute force. I know it's not your area of expertise, but do your best. What's the most brutal, ineffective way to fight someone you can think of? Umm… bludgeoning. Yes, bludgeoning! That's very brutal. So what could you use to bludgeon someone? A tree branch. Okay. So that means you need to find a tree._

I yawn widely.

_Well, you can find a tree tomorrow. Right now, go to sleep. You'll need to keep your strength up._

I nod to myself, sitting down. I _should _go to sleep. After all, I usually give pretty good advice.

_Day sixteen._

The birdsong is way too loud to be natural and I don't remember there being any birds around here in the first place, so I figure it's the Gamemakers broadcasting it. Time for my wake-up call. I sit groggily, rubbing my eyes. I had the strangest dream about Evita. She was at my house, smiling and laughing, playing with her siblings… why was she at my house? Oh, I don't know. It's a dream and I've had her on my mind. Stuff like that happens. It would probably be a bad sign if I _didn't _dream about my friends after murdering them.

I stagger to my feet. I didn't realize how tired I was getting. Maybe it's just my body trying to adjust to getting a full night's rest for once, but I feel groggy. I wonder if this is how victors feel every morning. I hope not. It's enough to make anyone take a second look at their desire to win the Hunger Games.

_Alright, Eewyn. No more bantering with yourself. It's time to take this seriously._

I turn once or twice very slowly, scanning the horizon. Where to find a tree, where to find a tree? I see some anonymous black smudge on the horizon and decide that's a good a place to start as any. I set off toward it.

The tree takes longer to find than I would have thought, but it is in fact a tree. I wonder briefly at the placement of trees in the arena. Are they random? Because it certainly feels like no matter where I am in the arena there's one and only one tree just barely visible at the edge of my vision. I bet the Gamemakers did that on purpose. I wouldn't put it past them. What else have they got to do between Hunger Games but think up annoying little details to add in? Nothing.

I snap a branch off the tree. It's a little difficult and I'm reminded of how pitifully tiny I am - especially compared to Wesley. I start to doubt myself. Who in their right mind would expect me to trust my strength against a giant like him? I try to tell myself that an idiot like Wesley Sawr would, but I'm not quite convinced. But what else can I do? There are no obstacles in this arena to work with. The only thing I can think of is the river and that's not exactly much help. Whatever the river could do to him I'm sure it could do to me, and worse. I can't swim, anyway.

What about the trees? Well, I can't exactly think of an entire plan around one of _those _shrimpy little things; especially with no supplies other than a knife. So that's out.

Yes, fooling him is the best plan. Risky as all get-out, but still the best.

I swing my tree branch over my shoulder, hoping I look more cocky than ridiculous, "Alright, all of you. I don't know where Wesley is and it's a big arena, so I'm going to need some help. I'll wait here until you get one of us to the other."

My stomach flips over with nervousness. This isn't like being thrown into a fight with no warning. Here I'm standing, armed and waiting, for a kid big enough to snap my neck with his own bare hands, practically. I want nothing more than to bolt, but that won't do any good. It'll only annoy the Gamemakers who will still make me face off against him eventually.

I consider sitting down. But no, that's not a good idea. What if my legs fall asleep or Wesley makes an out-of-character move and arrives with relative stealth? I might not make it back to my feet. And then I would be dead.

It can't be more than ten minutes before he arrives. Considering the size of this arena that's not too bad at all, but I wonder how the Gamemakers handle broadcasting that. Commercial break? That would just be cruel, to both of our families. But I can't think about this right now. Everything is coming to an end. It's him or me.

Funny, but I'm rooting for him.

I jump to my feet, doing my best to make my grip on my improvised club look genuine and determined; all the while balancing the knife under my sleeve, afraid that it will slip out and I'll lose my only real edge. Wesley gets closer, still moving at a sprint. As he approaches I can make out smaller shapes running along side of him. Maybe three hundred feet away from me they stop, but he keeps coming. I guess that whatever those things were, they were the Capitol's chosen method of bringing us together. Well, I can worry about that later. I stand, trying to stop my arms from quivering as Wesley closes the distance between us. Then he's here.

I dodge to the side and he barrels past me. I duck around the tree, getting the thin trunk between us. I am definitely more maneuverable. That's something.

Wesley growls in frustration. I notice with mild surprise that he has only a knife. It's a little bizarre seeing him with his bulk and brute force using a knife - which requires speed and strategy - against me (a considerably smaller opponent) and my club. It seems like it should be the other way around, but then again I'm probably lucky that it isn't. If he had my club I would be doomed. I wouldn't be able to get within range to stab him.

Wesley slashes at me awkwardly, the tree still between us, but doesn't come close to landing a hit. He lunges and I dodge. We circle each other for a moment before he pulls a move that actually surprises me. Which is a surprise in and of itself. I didn't predict that Wesley Sawr would manage any actual _strategy._

He throws his knife to my left. It's not even close to really hitting me, but it distracts me enough that he has time to dart around the tree and make a grab at my arm. He gets a hold of my wrist and I slam the branch against the side of his head. He releases with a curse, but I think it has more to do with the branches scraping his eye than with me actually hitting him. I turn and bolt away from the tree. We can't play keep-away forever and I need some time to plan.

Alright. I'm going to have to ride on the hope that I can get a knife into his chest before he realizes I'm holding one. So what's the best way to accomplish this? Ideally, wait until his guard was down like with Evita. But Wesley's guard will never truly go down, at least until I die. So when's the next best time to strike? When he's cocky. When will he be at his cockiest? When he's about to kill me. Alright. I have to convince him he's in the position to kill me.

I'm already not liking where this plan is headed.

I'll have to let him get a hold of me. He'll be about to strike, but he'll be in for a surprise when he realizes I'm much faster and he gets my knife in his ribs. I swallow. I hope he's not expecting this. Rhiattany from last year took down her opponent with a similar strategy… but no. I think I'm safe. Wesley's not exactly a big thinker and other than feigning a lack of danger to our attacker, our plans aren't really the same. After all, she faked dead. I'm just faking vulnerable.

Man, this better work.

I whip to face him like I've decided to take my chances in an all-out brawl. He's right on my heels and seizes the branch as I spin. He yanks it forward, pulling me toward him. It actually works in my favor better than I could have hoped. My momentum carries me forward. I see Wesley raising his knife, but when I'm slammed against him my knife is between us. The hilt jams into my ribs painfully, but more importantly it buries itself in his flesh. Wesley is surprised enough that his intended strike through my back ends up only cutting a shallow line from my shoulder to my spine. His knife falls to the ground and I scoop it up. Before he knows what's happened, I've stabbed his own knife into his throat.

He stumbles backwards, gurgling horribly, and collapses.

It takes longer than I would have expected for him to die. He makes a few pathetic attempts at rising, but soon he lies still.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Eewyn Carre - victor of the second Hunger Games!"

I wince at the noise. After so long in the arena the sound of the announcer seems so wrong. It's too loud, too fake, too happy, too… I could go on. But I won't. What more is there to say?

I watch as the hovercraft approaches, the national anthem playing loudly. Maybe it's the abrupt nature of my victory, but I can't seem to summon any sort of emotion. This is it? I just… leave? It's so strange, but this thing I've been dreaming of feels so worthless now. So dead. If I'm just going to feel like this forever - cold and confused - then what was the point?

It's all been said and done, right? Then why doesn't any of this feel finished?

I guess it's because it's not done. Now that I've won I'll never be done until I die. I'll be drawn back to the Capitol every year to watch. I'll live with my memories for the rest of my life. It's so strange how winning seems to have condemned me to being the only one of us never to leave the arena.

I look down at Wesley's body, then at the hovercraft again, which has now dropped a ladder for me to climb. And I turn and walk away from it.

I think about that tree Evita and I happened upon. The one with the symbols on it meant to represent the children from the Districts. Wesley's hasn't been marked off. If I'm going to be wandering around in a haze of not-quite-closure for the rest of my life, the very least I can give Wesley is to try and see that he gets what I can't have.

I guess that maybe I should have let him win. He would have made use of his life, I'm sure. Maybe it was a waste to save my own. I decide not to think that way. To make sense of your life is better than to avoid it.

I can hear the hovercraft idling. I bet the pilot is confused. Well, he's in good company. I'm sure everyone except me is confused. I would be if I were anyone but myself. But I'm not, so I'm not. Or… I am, so I'm not? Oh, well. Either way.

The hovercraft begins following me, clearly indicating that I should be a good girl and get on now, but I don't. It's tempting, though. On that hovercraft is food. Warmth. A ridiculously soft Capitol bed. Probably even a bath or shower. But that can wait.

The ladder bumps up against me, freezing me temporarily, but bounces off my shoulder and frees me. It's something of a wake-up call, and I pick up the pace. I wonder vaguely if this is even being broadcast. Oh, well. This is for me, not the audience, anyway.

I reach the tree. I circle it briefly, looking for the symbols in the bark. There. I climb onto a low branch. I could probably have fixed them from the ground, but this is easier.

D1B. Scratch.

D1G. Scratch.

D5B. Scratch.

Well. I guess that's it, then.

I look over it once. It's so strange knowing this is over. There are twenty-three dead children memorialized on this tree. Twenty-three. It's a lot. How did we get here, all ashes but one? Through betrayal, through pain, through friendship. All but one.

I run my hand over the mark in the trunk that represents me. D2G. Good old Eewyn Carre. I hesitate. I'm seized by a sudden desire to scratch out my own name and join the twenty-three. It'll happen some day, right? Why not mark it down now?

But it feels tantamount to giving up. I hesitate. Is that what I want, to give up? If so, where will I find myself? Bowing and scraping from having given in to the Capitol, or in mourning and pain forever, like Wrianin Abro? Which is me? What should I do?

But the choice is taken from me. What feels like a dart hits me in the back of the neck and I immediately feel woozy. I fall backwards out of the tree, glad that I'm numb. I think hitting the ground would have hurt.

Black rushes in on my vision. Figures. Biggest decision I'll ever make and they drug me, the ba…

**SECOND HUNGER GAMES CONCLUDED. VICTOR: EEWYN CARRE, AGE FIFTEEN, DISTRICT 2**


	29. Behind the Scenes

**Chapter 28**

Azin Hellwick sat at the head of the long conference table. To her right twelve mayors sat arrayed in ascending District order. To her left sat her ten Gamemakers (with Head Gamemaker Debrown, the eleventh, on the opposite end of the table of herself) and the two Hunger Games announcers. Her eyes lingered on them. They weren't as important to the meeting as most of those gathered. Maybe she should just send them away… but no. They were the mouthpieces. They were the direct controllers of public opinion - the ones who used twisty, conniving language to curry the audience's favor. It would save time to have them here. Besides, her cousin would be unhappy to be left out.

Her eyes fell on Erasaziel. In front of the cameras her cousin glowed. But in here she was out of her element. She was not a politician or a strategist. She was a little out of her league and she knew it, but she stuck it out. It fascinated Azin in some idle, chronic way. The president was like a bored child, sparing a few passing moments of interaction with a caged bird. Sazi, of course, was the bird. But the whole of Panem was her songbird.

Hellwick sat in quiet, waiting politely for those present to settle themselves. And then they just sat. Hellwick's assorted guests waited uncomfortably for her to open the meeting. No one was stupid enough to prompt her to begin. Nobody told the president what do. Made suggestions when asked, but try to think for themselves about it? No. There was not a more terrifying thought.

The silence stretched on, long enough that when the president exploded it was enough to make several of the more nervous congregants feel they would faint dead away.

"What was that?" the president roared.

"What was what?" Debrown asked, with as much respect as the short question could muster.

"The last two weeks!" Hellwick screamed. Spittle flew from her mouth. Her eyes bulged in fury. If the gathered didn't know how dangerous she was - how crazy - she would have looked funny. But they did, and she didn't. "It was all _wrong_. Wrong, wrong, wrong! Honestly, you're all just _idiots!_ I say last year was too uncontrolled, and then this time around you meddle too much. We want them to kill each other of their own volition. They will, for the most part. You're only supposed to interfere _when they've completely stopped playing on their own._"

Nobody said anything. No one interjected that the president had never told them that. Not even Capitol citizens were that stupid.

"Injecting hormones into the District 7 girl's body? No! She was already unstable. She would have cracked on her own."

Hellwick had been upset about that one. She'd wanted it to be the Games that broke Fromet completely. It would have worked. The stress of the Games was incredible, after all. It had worked on Kismet. Admittedly, the girl had had a rather easy life before her reaping; so she was probably unfamiliar with the stress level, but still. She had broken on, what? Day two? Fromet would have given in eventually.

It was a shame she hadn't had a weapon, though. Seeing her saw through her own wrists with her sharp, broken fingernails was delicious drama, but it took too long. They'd lost too much footage as she sawed back and forth, back and forth… oh well. They'd gotten the money shot eventually.

"Altering the hilled part of the arena in the middle of the Games? _No!_" Hellwick screamed.

She'd wanted so desperately to interfere when they'd decided on that one, but she'd held herself back. These were _their _Games. She had a country to run. She couldn't be doing their job for them. And if she couldn't trust them now, she'd just have to find someone else next year.

Not that it was all bad. It took out a player that Hellwick had no interest in collecting and one that would never make a suitable winner of the Hunger Games. Really, she would have executed them then and there if they'd tried something like that with Homer and Matrinez, or Carre and Cormichael.

"Sending those trees in? No!"

What a waste of potential. The 1-5 alliance was a source of wonderful tension. Two children willing to die for one another… it would have made for a fabulous finale to have one of them finally be forced to watch the other die and then to live with it! It would have been as lovely and broken a little toy as Wrianin had proven.

"And those ridiculous robotic puppets?" she shrieked. She could see them withering into themselves, terror only tempered with the knowledge that there was nothing they could do to stop her from doing… well, anything. She might have allowed puppet politicians, but everyone knew she held all the power. "No!"

That had been the kicker. If they wanted a strong victor, Wesley would have been ideal. Better than Carre, she imagined. But they'd given him too much opportunity to rebel. He'd been doomed since the moment he'd snapped that robot's neck. If they'd let him win on his own he could have been bribed and broken into submission, but to let someone out that tried to flaunt the Capitol was impossible.

They'd ruined her lovely Games.

"Who will own up to this?" she hissed. Her eyes slid over the table. Large eyes blinked back at her, flickering behind fringes of oddly streaked, angular hair. She wrinkled her nose. The fashions in the Capitol were getting ridiculous. Give it fifty years and the place would look like a circus.

Of course, no one answered her question. They would have been shot for doing so. Well, shot before their comrades.

"Dispose of them," she said calmly.

Debrown jumped to his feet, opening his mouth to offer protests or plead for mercy, but half of his face was gone before he could make a sound.

The guards fired, some of the bullets passing inches from her shoulder, but she didn't so much as flinch. She was in no danger. They were her personal guard, trained from birth to protect the President of Panem with their lives. They had been shooting guns since before they could stand, with the help of trainers. Most of them could hit a coin from more than a hundred feet. She never had to worry about friendly fire. The only blood that she would have to have washed out of her favorite suit was that of her Gamemakers.

By the time ten bodies laid on the ground the conference room was in chaos. Erasaziel was sobbing heavily and holding her announcer friend Tennem who'd fainted when a young woman's brain matter had splattered across his face. The one surviving Gamemaker was sitting stock still, eyes wide. Azin had chosen her carefully. She was meek, obedient, but creative and capable. Hopefully she'd be able to see things more logically than her bloodthirsty predecessor as Head Gamemaker. This was going to be a good inundation to giving blood on her hands. Right now she had blood on her… everything. She sat bathed in the blood, innards, and brains of her coworkers. She'd gotten the worst of it, although the others were in a panic.

Well, most of them. One or two of the tougher mayors had merely jumped in surprise, but now sat in stoic silence. Still, the majority of those present were either on their feet, screaming, or trying to hide themselves in the corner of the room furthest away from the gore.

"Sit down!" Hellwick barked. Most of the keening stopped at once with only Sazi's terrified tears continuing. Well, Azin could deal with one delicate little flower crying. She could speak over that. Slowly the mayors slid back to their seats, eyes wide. She smiled. It was good to be in charge. Anyone else would have had to move them to another room - probably giving them a couple hours to cool down - before the meeting could have continued, but their fear of her was so huge it would even coax them to sit down at table with corpses.

Really, fear was such an efficient way to accomplish things; it was a shame more governments hadn't used it.

She hadn't moved and by the time the others were sat she looked as calm and pleasant as cat that had just been fed. She had been, in a way. Her anger had been sated with blood.

As the mayors took their seats she could see them shuddering. Blood spread across the table from some unlucky Gamemaker whose head had bounced against the wall and been knocked forward. One or two of them had been shot from behind by the guards who monitored the other side of the room. All in all, it was a bloodbath. But even as gore soaked into their shoes, everyone sat silently. They would rather witness the massacre than be its victim.

"I make a motion to appoint Mica Larosa as Head Gamemaker," Hellwick said calmly. "Will anyone second the motion?"

She expected an immediate chorus of, "I second the motion!" from those grubbing for her favor, but she was met with silence. Of course, most of those thinking of political advancement had just been shot. Oh, well. It was still well known that any motion the president made was seconded and approved, and any she opposed was shot down. It would just be a moment.

But nobody said anything. She frowned pointedly. Mica cleared her throat and muttered, "I- I second the motion." she sounded sick to her stomach.

Azin smiled pleasantly. "Thank you, Mica. All in favor say aye!"

Silence. "Aye," prompted the president.

"Aye," murmured Mica.

"All those opposed say nay!"

Of course, no one said a thing.

"Then we have a majority," the president exclaimed. "Mica Larosa will be our Head Gamemaker for the coming year. Mica, you will be expected to appoint your own panel of Gamemakers to assist you." The young girl nodded.

"Wonderful!" the president exclaimed, shuffling her papers. "Now we have some administrative business to attend to…"

**Wrianin Abro, Victor of the First Hunger Games**

"She doesn't look like much," I mutter. It's true. Eewyn Carre is nothing special at first glance. She's not _bad _looking, I suppose; but really you wouldn't give her a second glance on the street if you didn't know she'd been through the Hunger Games.

Her blond hair is arranged neatly behind her back. It's been cleaned. She was drugged when they brought her in, so I'm assuming it was hospital staff that did it. She looks a lot different in the Hunger Games Center hospital than she did in the arena. She was always petite, but now she looks like you could break her if you shook her hand too hard. Maybe it's that she no longer has control. She may have been in charge in the arena, but she sure isn't in here.

"No, she doesn't," Cornelius sighs. For a Capitol man, he's not too bad. A bit of a busybody, though. He was appointed by the Capitol to make sure I get to all of my public appearances and whatever during my time in the city. Probably a smart idea on their part. I'd get lost without an escort. The Capitol is a big city. "But I'm sure her prep team will fix her up nicely. With makeup and maybe a little surgery I'm sure she'll be lovely."

"No one's tried to force me into cosmetic surgery," I say, a little miffed at the implications.

"Well, you're just about average, boy," he says with a smile, clapping my shoulder.

"So's she," I remind him.

"Yes, but she's a girl. And the Capitol cares even more about its women looking nice than its men."

"Don't refer to them in third person," I say, a little angry now. "You're one of them too."

Cornelius smiled wistfully, "Yes, I suppose I am. Still, I'm not the most… fashion forward gentleman you'll ever meet."

I grunt in indifference and grab the arm of a passing doctor, "When are they going to wake her up?"

"About an hour," he replied. "As soon as the president has finished her meeting." I nod and let go of his arm. Of course, I thought so. The president was only too eager to make "friends" with me. I guess she'll be taking Eewyn under her wing, too.

I turn back to the viewing window. It seems a little odd to me to have a glass wall in a hospital room. But I guess Eewyn is something of a curiosity now. She's an animal in the zoo. I can see nurses and doctors give her curious looks as they hurry along to care for their high-priority patients. I sit in a chair facing the wall and join them in gawking. What else am I supposed to do for a whole hour?

I rub my temples. They need me lucid, more or less, so I've been denied pain medication. I've gotten good at pretending it doesn't hurt in the year since my victory. Well, almost a year. The Games ended much more quickly this time. Anyway, I do my best to smile and joke with Cornelius when really my head is pounding so badly it's making me nauseous.

After maybe an hour I hear the distinctive click of Hellwick's heels. She walks with a force and surety that I've never known anyone else to posses. I know it's her before she greets me.

"Wrianin, dear. How are you feeling? Your headaches?" she asks sweetly, giving me an airy kiss on each cheek.

"Bad. As always," I answer shortly. Hellwick isn't fazed. She's used to having to keep the conversation rolling when I'm not drugged up. She's insisted on keeping closely in touch through messages broadcast to my little handheld television thing, calling me up on the phone, eating dinner with me in the Capitol once a month, and coming to District 6 for the express purpose of visiting me. I've gotten used to her presence, mostly. I've heard she's terrifying when she's angry, but she always seems to be in a good mood when I'm around her.

"Well, I believe they're ready to wake Ms. Carre up. We'll want to be ready," she says. She walks to the flat pad against the wall, placing her finger on it. She tenses a tiny bit as it pricks her finger. It analyzes her blood or DNA or whatever for a moment, and then beeps. She types in the number three - for how many people the doors are to let in before closing. We file in and it sucks itself closed behind us.

The hospital has the most incredible technology I've ever seen. Even out in the rest of the Capitol things aren't this nice or advanced. I wonder how much of it is experimental or reserved for government use. A lot, I'd guess.

Cornelius sits down in the corner, sinking into a plush armchair. It's the same shade of white as most of the hospital. Clearly he's a little on edge to be so close to the infamous Hellwick.

"What did you think about the finale?" she asks me. I shrug my shoulders.

"I don't really know. Either way, it was more or less the same for me. I didn't know either of them personally, just from the Games. They both killed. I don't know that it would have made much of a difference either way," I say. She laughs.

"Indifference. How cold of you, Wrianin. I approve."

Before I can really decide how to respond to that the door hisses open again. A doctor comes in. It's funny, but I have a hard time taking the doctors here seriously. I'm sure she's brilliant - medically, anyway - but she's had so much plastic surgery her face looks like it was modeled after a drawing made by a four-year-old child.

"We're ready to begin," she says. She must be from the Capitol upper class. Her accent is almost too thick to understand and from the Capitol people I've met, the rich people have it the worse. Well, the accent, that is. Everything else… the level of luxury rich Capitol people live in actually makes me uncomfortable. Too many servants watching you all the time. Too many avoxes.

She inserts a needle of… something into Eewyn's arm. I expect to be waiting for a while, but her eyes begin to flutter open within a matter of second. They're brown, which I'd never noticed before. She makes a sound that I think is intended to be speech, but it's clear she's not really in control of her body yet. We wait silently for her to say something.

"_Never _drug me again," she mumbles eventually. Hellwick smiles.

"I doubt I'll have reason to."

Eewyn looks around groggily. She glances over the medical equipment, the deformed doctor, and finally me. She frowns a little, "Wha's he doing here?"

"I thought my two victors should meet one another," Hellwick says.

"'Kay," she murmurs, looking sleepy. She coughs before holding out her hand weakly. "Eewyn Carre. Nice to meet you."

"I know who you are. Wrianin Abro," I respond, not taking her hand. She doesn't seem too terribly offended.

"I know."

"We're silent for a moment. Hellwick crosses to Eewyn, taking her hand in a motherly fashion. It makes my skin crawl. I'm used to seeing her act this way towards me, but to see her already worming her way into Eewyn's head is disturbing. I wonder if the girl even realizes who's holding her hand.

"Now. Starting the day after tomorrow we'll be beginning your post-Games touring. You'll have your interviews and then go home and you'll get several months of rest. During the summer you'll take a Victory Tour in which you'll tour each of the Districts and the Capitol. It's really very simple," she says soothingly. I consider trying to intercede, to keep her away from Eewyn, but I don't see the point. Eventually, Eewyn Carre will have to choose for herself. It's going to be her choice and I don't think anything I have to say will make a bit of difference. Besides, she's Capitol property now, anyway.

"Okay," she says. Her eyes are clearer now, flicking around the room and taking everything in. She begins to sit up and the doctor rushes over exclaiming admonitions. Eewyn waves her away. "Hey. I'm recovering from being drugged. It's not like I'm really injured or something like tha- ooh," she murmurs. As she props herself up on her elbows she goes cross-eyed and she falls back against her pillow.

"Told you so," mutters the doctor, adjusting a tube connected to Eewyn's arm. The girl makes a face, but grunts in deference.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll stay put," she mutters.

"Congratulations on your victory," Hellwick says with a smile. Eewyn makes some sort of a grunting noise that is probably meant as acknowledgment. Azin turns and marches out the door and I notice a small red stain on her sleeve before she disappeared behind the heavy door. I try really hard not to think about what that stain is and how it got there.

I stand here for a long time, just sort of staring at the door. All of the excitement from the last couple days - compounded by the withdrawal of my pain medication - is just a bit too much with that mysterious stain added on top of it. I don't know how long I would have just sat here, practically comatose, if Eewyn didn't apparently find it annoying.

"What are you doing?" she asks loudly. I blink once and look at her.

"Oh. Oh, sorry. I'm j- just leaving. Sorry," I mutter. I start for the door but she interrupts.

"Are you okay?" she asks me.

"No," I answer without hesitating.

"You ever going to be okay?"

"No."

She's silent for a moment. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, kid. Me too," I reply.

"You're still a kid too, aren't you? Mostly?" she asks.

I shake my head. "No. Not even technically. I'm nineteen."

"Oh."

"Kid, whatever you do, make your own choices, okay?"

She blinks, apparently confused, "O… kay. Yeah. Sure, whatever."

"Thanks," I mutter. I leave without another word.


	30. Who Are You

**A/N**- My laptop is having some sort of issues, so I have no idea how soon I will be updating. Luckily, this had already been sent to my beta, so I was able to update via my home computer. If updates lag, be aware that I am actively trying to fix it. And that I feel terrible.

**Chapter 29**

**Eewyn Carre, Victor of the Second Hunger Games**

I pull nervously on the hem of my dress. It's too short for my taste. I suppose it's still modest, really, but I don't think my legs need to be on display quite as much as they are. They're really not so much to look at. I guess I look good, though. It's helpful having a team of makeup artists, a hair stylist and designers dedicated totally to beautifying you.

I run my hands up my hips. They've put padding in odd places to give me the appearance of curves. They did a good job. I look more like the idealized hourglass than the twig I really am. The neckline is particularly clever. It seems much more plunging than it is, while still hiding the fact that the front of the dress is strategically stuffed to increase the size of my chest.

The slinky material is greenish blue. It's so slick. I've never felt a material like this before. I think I like it; but I also feel a little uncomfortable in it, like the dress isn't the right size after all, or something. The strange new fabric feels too tight around me, even over the padding. It feels like I've been given a new layer of skin and muscles. It's a very awkward sensation.

I tear my eyes from my strange Capitol dress, focusing instead on my reflection in the mirror. My skin has been... I'm not even sure what to call it. All the blemishes are gone: acne, freckles, and even the most minor of blotches marring my skin tone have been washed off. This part of my makeover I have decided I do indeed appreciate, although it makes me shudder to imagine exactly what the Capitol did to me while I was unconscious in order to achieve it.

My hands flutter to my ears. Two small white stones have been stuck through my earlobes on small pieces of metal. I believe they call it 'pierced'. No one in the Districts pierces their ears. There is too large a danger of infection. I realize now that I've seen these sorts of ear baubles before, although I didn't realize what they were for. I think I might go around buying them up from those who happen to have them. They won't be much use to their owners, but the money will be. And I'll have plenty of money.

A strand of hair falls into my face. They've changed that too, darkening my natural white-blond to a more sandy tone. Feathery bangs now tickle my cheeks and jaw, although they are still long enough that they don't fall into my eyes. The rest of my hair has been pulled up into a masterful bun, pinned back with jeweled hair clips.

"Miss Carre?"

I don't recognize the reflection of the tiny, ethereal woman who calls my name, but she's dressed simply and carries a clipboard, so I figure she's one of the organizers. I turn to face her. "We're live in two minutes," she chirps, blinking at me with fawnlike eyes. I nod and smile nervously and she turns on her heel, leading me out of the dressing room. Very soon I find myself in front of the door that will open and let me out to face the Capitol crowd. My heart pounds, I have no idea what to do.

I have always lived my life balancing on the edge of choices, walking on the blade-thin line between yes and no. I've never been able to make up my mind, even on who I was. The aborted choice of the arena hangs over my head like a sword ready to sever my head.

Who am I? Am I Eewyn Carre, slayer of allies, Victor of the Hunger Games, the Capitol's darling? Should I blot memories of pain and fear and friendship from my memory? Should I smile for the cameras, laughing and joking, as they want me to? Can I embrace my murders and let them grow lighter in my heart? Will I fight tooth and nail for the reward I have "earned"?

Who am I? Am I Eewyn Carre, a fifteen-year-old girl who was simply desperate to go home? Can I let myself break, the foolish child who gave all for a gilded lie? Should I let the memory of the wrongs I've done and my inability to set them right eat me away? Should I join Wrianin Abro in brokenness?

I don't know. I don't know what to do. One thing I do know is that Eewyn Carre can no longer straddle the line between winner and loser, murderer and victim, child and adult. Whatever I choose, it is time to choose it.

I don't know what I want anymore. I don't even know what I'm _supposed _to want anymore. What would be considered the right decision to make now, looking at it objectively? I'm not sure. Is it worse to pretend the dead don't weigh on my mind, or to make their deaths in vain and just slip into near-death myself?

"One week ago today, history was made."

Tsepelia Climian's voice is magnified, echoing out through the vast auditorium. I jump. Behind the door, separated from the stage, as I am, I hadn't realized they were starting. I hear the crowd roar with excitement. I feel sick to my stomach - how _many _of them are there? Sounds like a lot. As soon as I'm done I'm going to talk to Hellwick about making the interview a little more private next year. Goodness knows the Victor won't need the added stress any more than I do, and it's not like it isn't being televised.

"One week ago today a victory was won; the victory that was the end of the second Hunger Games. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Eewyn Carre, Victor of the second Hunger Games!"

The light as the door opens, sliding up into the ceiling, almost blinds me.

_choose_.

What am I?

Maybe it's because I stop thinking about it that I'm able to finally decide. I feel a smile spread across my face like blood through water. I walk forward in my strappy blue heels, waving and flirting at the audience.

Well. That's it, then. I will be who they want me to be. I guess it was inevitable. There is no freedom for a victor. You're either their fool and their chew toy the way Wrianin Abro is, or their fool and their doll the way I will be. I would have bowed and broken eventually. I'm just getting it over with.

Tsepelia shakes my hand, smiling just as widely as I am. I laugh as if to say, "oh, it's so silly to be formal" and drop her hand. I lean in and give her a hug instead. She laughs too and hugs me back gently. She shows me to my chair.

"My, Eewyn! You look lovely!" she coos, fingering my strange new bangs gently. I smile.

"Oh, thank you. But it's not me, so much. They slathered enough makeup on me to paint a landscape, if they'd wanted to!"

The crowd laughs. I wonder again at how I've changed. How did I go from the girl whose only response to being sentenced to death was a request for ham to this girl who giggles for the camera?

"Well, even makeup artists need _something _to start with," she teases. I glance down at myself briefly.

"I guess even I qualify as 'something'," I concede. She smiles.

"Not just 'something'. Something special. If you weren't you wouldn't be sitting here," she says, smiling with softer warmth now. I sort of return her smile.

"I guess so. But just... specialness didn't win it for me. I had help. I had a good amount of luck."

"Luck is everybody's friend," she agrees. "And today we are lucky enough to watch the recaps. Would you like to do the honors?" she asks.

"Pardon?"

"Just press this button," she instructs me. I shrug and take the funny piece of plastic she hands me. I push the indicated button and screens begin lowering against the walls. I look around in surprise. Two huge screens come down on either side of the stage, while two more begin lowering at the opposite end of the auditorium. As they click into place the footage begins almost immediately. It shows my reaping, the chariots rides, and the interviews. I get most of the attention throughout all of them, although some of the others who lasted for a long time are featured heavily as well.

I can't really say many of the shots of Evita and me make an effect on me. I know all that. I _lived _all that. It's seeing what happened to the others that makes me feel sick. Seeing Winona of District 6 not caring about living or dying, only wanting to find a friend and getting murdered in the process.

I see my District partner, which leaves my stomach twisting uncomfortably. I see the boy from District 6 say goodnight to his family at home. I see Kiteriin Fromet driven insane by something no one can see. I see Evita's District partner fight with the girl from District 11 just before we kill him. I see Baylyn of District 1 destroyed after her ally's death. An uncomfortable suspicion pokes at the corners of my mind. They can't possibly have... no, that can't be true. That would just be too awful for the Capitol to let happen. They would have done something about it. Even the Capitol would have, I'm sure.

Before I know it, the two and a half hours have slid by. I banter some more with Tsepelia. She asks me more questions about how things were for me during the Games. About Evita, about how it feels to have won. I try to answer them all as blithely as possible. After all, that is who I will be now.

It gets easier, I find. It gets easier to be the girl I'm making myself into. I do my best to feel what she feels, to look at things the way she would. I'm glad. I don't want to be half-acting for the rest of my life. Whatever else I may be willing to do, I can't put up with that.

"Thank you all for coming," she says with a sad smile. Oh, yes. What a pity it is to part. "And special thanks to our special guest, Eewyn Carre, the winner of the second Hunger Games."

The lights go down as the audience applauds thunderously. I know what I'm supposed to do. The short lady who got me into position said to exit stage left. I work my way off the left side of the stage, tripping once over a piece of furniture. I bite back a curse. Really, the heels are so difficult to walk in, but when paired with disability to see where I'm going it's more difficult. Soon enough, though, I manage to paw my way clumsily to the stage door and push it open. There are immediately two or three people at my side, asking if I need something to drink or if I want to be driven back to my hotel or a million other insignificant things.

"I'd like to go back to the hotel," I say. I'm too tired to do much more today, so I figure the hotel is the best choice. Maybe I can put myself to sleep with one of those Capitol television dramas.

"Eewyn!" I hear. I turn to see Hellwick approaching with Wrianin close behind. He pulls on the sleeve of his suit uncomfortably, scowling like he'd rather be anywhere than here.

"Congratulations, dear. That went very well," the president says, shaking my hand. I smile wanly.

"Thanks. I guess it went okay."

"Wrianin, where are your manners? You remember how stressful it is to do your first interview, with all those emotions that still need untangling. Tell the girl she did a good job," Hellwick chides. I clean a nail absently as I watch her. It's a little disturbing, the way she jokes with and scolds him like a mother or aunt. But then again, I guess I've decided to work with Hellwick myself, so I'd better get used to it.

"Uh, yeah. Real- real good. Can I go? My head..." he says. She clucks her tongue.

"Oh, that's right. I forgot. Go ahead. I'll see you tomorrow."

He grunts but doesn't look up as he turns and goes, rubbing his temples.

"He's really such a nice boy. I think you two will get along famously, once you've gotten used to each other. Wrianin tries to avoid becoming close to people, after last year's Games, but I'm sure he'll warm up to you," she says conversationally. I shrug.

"Yeah, I guess. Actually, I'd rather be going, too. I'm tired. Do you mind if I...?"

"Oh, of course. I'll see you tomorrow night," the president says.

"Umm, tomorrow? Isn't all of the Hunger Games stuff over now? Until the Victory Tour, I mean," I say.

"Oh, yes. I just want to get to know you. We'll be dining together. Then you will be free to go home," she replies pleasantly. I nod, unsure. She frightens me even more when she's so friendly and warm. I can hardly reconcile her with the steely woman I see making television broadcasts. But she is. I guess Hellwick just likes showing different faces to different people, so as best to get what she wants out of all of them."

"Alright. Thanks."

"You're welcome. Congratulations, and goodnight."

"Thanks. And, uh, 'night."


	31. Dinner With the Devil

**A/N**- Laptop is up and running!

**Chapter 30**

**Eewyn Carre, Victor of the Second Hunger Games**

I'm glad to have been allowed to choose my own dress for tonight. My dress is now black and far more casual with a skirt falling to my knees, patterned with red flowers. It feels nice to be free of the padding, although, the skirt is of that strange, slippery fabric. I'm not quite used to it.

The silver necklace clinks as I step out of the long, sleek car to stand at the end of the president's long driveway. Her mansion is huge, bigger than any of the mass-produced homes in the "Victors' Village" established last year. I finger the charm on my necklace - a bird in a cage. I thought it was appropriate for tonight.

"Right this way, miss," chirps a man dressed in a white uniform. It's odd how little Hellwick's speech sounds like that of the average Capitol citizen. I suspect she trained herself to talk more like someone from the Districts. It does seem more dignified. I nod at the attendant and he minces through the ornate front door, down a long hallway, up a staircase… before I even realize how long we've been walking I'm entirely turned around. I doubt I could find my way out without help.

"Here we are, Miss Carre," he says, bowing. I nod.

"Eh, thanks."

I hesitate, wondering if I should knock, but decide against it. President Hellwick has been the organizer behind the murder of forty-six children over the last year. I'm really not so worried about invading her privacy.

I push the door open. The servant's eyes widen. I guess most people don't just barge in on Madame President, but I'm really not too worried. I'm her little trophy now. I can't imagine she'd be in too big a hurry to kill me.

It swings open slowly. It's heavier than I would have guessed. Hellwick and Wrianin Abro are already seated. He winces noticeably as the door bangs against the wall, but Hellwick just looks delighted to see me.

"Hello, Eewyn. I was beginning to think your chauffer had taken a wrong turn," she says pleasantly. I laugh because I know that's what is expected of me now. If I'm going to sell my soul to the devil, might as well go all out, right?

"No, no. He did fine. Although, I think I might have taken a few wrong turns down hallways on the way here. I don't see how _else _it could have taken so long to get here!"

Hellwick laugh obligingly, and I sit at the place set on her long table. It looks bizarre, with only three places set at the far end. Most of it looks very bare. I feel uncomfortable as I walk down the length of the dining table, Hellwick smiling widely and Wrianin Abro hunched in misery. I guess his headaches really _are _that bad, then. I'd never paid that much attention to all the rumors floating around about the Victor - I wasn't really the gossipy type -but I'd heard about his headaches.

I sit down, tugging the hem of my dress into place. Dinner has not been served, but as soon as I sit down platters start arriving at the table so I deduce they've been waiting for me. I scoop a few foods onto my golden plate, but I'm really not paying much attention to my dinner. I'm distracted by Hellwick's presence and the flamboyance of her home. Everything is ridiculously luxurious. I would feel a little ridiculous living here, but I guess it fits her tastes.

The ceiling soars up, painted with a complex scene of angels and clouds. Heaven, I suppose. That doesn't make much sense either. I can't imagine anyone with real concern about Heaven behaving like a President of Panem. Maybe it's meant to be ironic?

Apparently not, because she proceeds to say some bizarre form of grace. Wrianin and I wriggle uncomfortably. The idea that people can be as evil as she is disturbing enough on its own, but to think that they might be able to convince themselves that they were somehow doing right by God? I try to avoid thinking about it. It's just too much.

Once she's finished, closing with words that don't resemble any prayer _I've _ever heard before, she smiles at us.

"Well, this is very exciting. I have the feeling all of us are going to be good friends."

I smile back as best I can and Wrianin just nods tiredly. It seems he's mostly past any desire to argue with Hellwick.

"What did you two think about the opening for this year? I thought it was better, but not quite good enough," she muses. "Although, the death toll I could take. It was just… a little anticlimactic. I hope the children next year do a better job. It's really in their best interest to perform as we want them to. While our primary concern is to use the Games as a disciplinary tactic, we _do _need to keep them pretty fast-paced for those with… lesser mental capacity."

I look at Wrianin out of the corner of my eye, but he's staring at his plate. Something squirms in my stomach to hear Hellwick chatting so casually about the whole thing. I suppose he's used to it, though, because he doesn't even look up at me.

I really wish Hellwick didn't lead him around all the time, actually. It's a little awkward having a third person kind-of-sort-of with us, but not really engaged or interested. Why couldn't she just let the poor boy be?

"If you'll excuse me, my dear," she says. She drops her lovely napkin on the top and clicks off, presumably to use the bathroom. At first I'm almost surprised at how perfectly that aligned with my thoughts. I wished she'd leave poor Wrianin Abro alone, and lo and behold she walks away. As soon as the door slams shut, however, the uncomfortable air at the dinner table increases tenfold. I lift fine food to my mouth, trying to think of something to say. Wrianin asks for another glass of wine, presumably hoping it'll ease the headache he's having. A servant pours it for him, not a single red drop splashing onto the golden tablecloth.

"So, you sold out, huh?" he asks, voice low. My golden fork stops halfway through my lips, and the bite of chicken falls into my lap. I'm glad for the napkin protecting my dress from the chicken grease.

"What?" I say, taken aback.

"You're going to let her run you. You're going to just forget about it all? Pretend it was the best thing that ever happened to you? Can you _really _do that, Eewyn?" he growls. I try my best to say something, anything, but the disgust in his eyes is too clear. I think back to his Games, how he watched all of his allies die, either by the hands of children or starving slowly as he was powerless to stop them. I remember him trying to stab himself once, only to have his ally, Jiminy Frank, stop him. Wrianin Abro really suffered in his Games. I wonder if his anger now has anything to do with jealousy that I don't seem to have suffered the same way, that I'm stronger than he is.

"Do you even care that you murdered your ally? Stabbed her when she trusted you? Betrayed her?" he snarls.

I scramble for an answer. Do I? No, Eewyn Carre does not. She doesn't care about anything anymore. She's the Capitol's darling. But do _I _care?

"No," I hiss. "No, I don't. I'm sorry if that offends your high moral standard."

"I don't know about 'high', but yeah, I'm offended," he snaps back. "To kill them is one thing. Only one kid could have survived. Why not you, right? But to just brush it off, to decide that you _deserve _to win even at the cost of all those kids… that's disgusting."

"No, you know what's disgusting? Wasting it! Letting Hellwick beat you! If you can't keep fighting, for them or for yourself, then you certainly 'don't deserve' to be here!"

"You call what you're doing 'fighting'?" he snarls. "You're not fighting! You're just benefiting off of all their deaths!"

"And you think they would do any different?" I shout back. The servants standing against the walls look a little stunned. I guess their pampered little Capitol lives haven't taught them how to deal with such horrible sights as celebrities arguing. "The fact is I'm not the only one who fought for this, Wrianin! And there's nobody in the world that wouldn't let those kids die to save themselves, if they had time to really think about it. I don't care how much of an idealist they are, how much a good person, they-"

Wrianin opens his mouth, but I cut him off. "Yeah, I know. You're such a hero, Wrianin. You would have died for them. But you still killed people. _Kids. _The fact is you were serving yourself just as much as I was. You couldn't live with yourself if they died, so you decided to die for them!"

He winces visibly. He sinks slowly into his chair, a raw look in his eyes. I know I've gone too far already, but I can't stop. I'm too angry.

"What do you think they'd say, Wrianin? 'Thank you for giving up'? No! You're wasting everything they died for - _everything _- and I will _not. Do. The same_!" I scream, knocking my plate onto the floor in fury, scattering my fine dinner all over the rug. I stand panting, gripping the edge of the table, as Wrianin rises deliberately. He slaps me once across the face and then slumps back into his chair. I hardly feel his blow; although, I have the distinct impression that I will once my anger has worn off. I sit slowly, trying to slow my breathing. I see Wrianin rubbing hard at his eyes. He swears once under his breath.

The door wings open and Hellwick clicks in. She pauses in her march as she enters, apparently picking up on either then tension between Wrianin and myself, or taking in the shock of the servants. And, of course, she smiles.

"Getting to know each other?" she asks, striding to her seat at the head of the table.

"Um, yes," I say, trying to smile. "Just... a philosophical debate."

Hellwick smiles pleasantly and begins to chat, but Wrianin doesn't say another word throughout the whole dinner, and I'm only half there. As soon as desert is over I excuse myself and a servant leads me out. I can't leave quickly enough.

The chauffeur zips down the street. The Capitol is absolutely lovely at night, you have to admit. The candy-colored buildings with their funny shapes and pristine cleanliness are quite a sight in the daytime, but the night is when they really come alive. Bright signs flash and change color. They shine against the pink and green and purple and blue of the Capitol buildings, a riot of color always warping. It's almost hypnotic, and before long I fall asleep. I'm eventually woken as someone lifts me from the seat of the presidential limo and carries me up to my room. I hardly open my eyes, not even bothering to check who is carrying me. I grunt ever so slightly, trying to thank them, but I doubt they understand me. I'm laid onto my fine bed fully dressed, and the kind person pulls the blankets up around my chin. I'm asleep again almost immediately.

The colors from the drive spin in my mind and someone is humming along as they do. It's no song I know. I don't believe it's even a real tune. Just random notes, floating from an unseen hummer to improve the ambience of my dreams. But the colors begin to darken and fade away until the only one that remains is red. The humming becomes monotone and staccato, until it changes into a faint _whump whump whump _at the edge of my hearing. A heartbeat. All of a sudden fear clenches my heart. No reason for it, just fear. But no matter how much I scream, the warm red room doesn't let me escape. The redness seeps and drips; the heart pounds away sinisterly, and my terror increases. Just when I know I will die from fear any moment now, my eyes snaps open and my moaning sleep-scream cuts off. I awake, sweaty and sobbing, from my first nightmare. My first of many.


	32. Endings and Beginnings

**Chapter 30**

**Eewyn Carre, Victor of the Second Hunger Games**

You'd think on a train as big and luxurious as this one there would be more to do. For some reason nothing holds my interest. I'm not hungry, so pigging out in the dining car won't do it. The TV is all Hunger Games related. The servants refuse to speak to me, so there's no one to talk to. I tried to take a nap, but I couldn't fall asleep. So, now I just lie in my bed, thinking.

Where do I go from here? I just keep living, I suppose. I don't need to work. I don't need to go to school any more. I don't need to worry about being unable to support myself. I guess I'll just have to make something to do. Maybe I can find a bookseller or something along those lines. It's possible. Almost nobody has money for books, but maybe just a shelf in a luxury store somewhere…

I swear if the worst part about winning the Hunger Games turns out to be boredom, I will be pretty disappointed.

I stare out the window and watch the world fly by. It's not too long a drive to District 2. I won't be here overnight. I can't wait to get home. At least then I'll have reporters to dodge, a new house to visit, my parents to see. Something.

I wonder how people back home see me now. I can't imagine I'll be able to just slip back neatly into my little niche and have things be the same way. I mean, I don't think that I'm the same person anymore at all. And all those people must feel the same way. If someone I knew did the things I have done, I wouldn't be able to treat them the same way as I had before.

I sigh and turn away from the window. It's all the same. But really, I wouldn't expect to be too impressed by scenery after the pomp of the Capitol. I highly doubt anything will truly impress me again. I haven't seen it all, but the bits that I have seen have numbed me more than enough to make up for it.

I haven't seen everything, but I've seen too much. Maybe some of the other kids were more used to death and suffering, since a lot of them came from the idiotic Districts that thought they could win against the Capitol; but I grew up privileged in District 2. Hunger, pain, and terror… they were all new to me. I guess I paid for my easy upbringing by getting a lifetime's worth of horror in two weeks.

I guess I haven't seen anything unique, though. Everyone back home had to watch. I'm not the only kid whose eyes have been opened to violence. I wonder how many little children had to have the concept of death explained as their older brother bled out, how many frightened teenagers cried themselves to sleep, imagining that it might have been them.

No, it's not what I've seen that matters at all. It's what I've felt. Anger and bloodlust, guilt and exultation. Whatever else you can say about the Hunger Games, they're quite a rush.

I flop restlessly onto my bed. They had to do my makeup for my arrival, and they stuck me in another odd dress. Thankfully, this one is a more comfortable fabric. It's short again, though. I'm beginning to see a pattern in my public appearances.

I can't nap. I'll mess up my hair. I can't experiment with the shower. That would destroy my hair _and _my makeup. I've already eaten. So now what?

Then it strikes me how spoiled I am. There are people in the poorer Districts, and probably even in mine, who haven't eaten. Who don't have beds or showers. I shove the thought away immediately. Eewyn Carre the child might notice something like that, but not Eewyn Carre the victor. She takes everything for granted, blind to the evils of the world and especially the Capitol.

Man. This whole "becoming whom I'm pretending to be" thing is moving along pretty slowly.

"Miss Carreeeeeeeee?" squeals Julia from the other side of the door. I groan. They've decided I now need an escort to make my way through public appearances. Before, I was just marshaled on the train, into the holding center, and that was it. Oh, well. I suppose it can't hurt to have another person watching my steps for me. I wonder if Wrianin Abro has been assigned a babysitter as well, but then push the thought away. No point in thinking about him; I'll just get myself riled up.

I rise, checking the mirror to make sure my curls

haven't been rubbed out of place, and push the door open.

"Yes?"

"We're going to be reaching District Two in fifteen minutes," she chirps. My stomach does a flip. A minute ago, I was sitting bored in my room, wondering when we would get home. Now fifteen minutes is much too short. I nod in thanks to Julia and promptly slam the door in her face. I'm sure she's offended; these Capitol people are awfully easy to offend. I don't really care.

Okay. Okay. Fifteen minutes. I have fifteen minutes to slip into my mask, and to do it well enough that people who have known me my entire life will be fooled into thinking I have never had any doubts.

I fight a queasy feeling in my stomach. Stage fright. Perfect.

_I am a victor. I am a victor. I am a victor._

_Really, self? Because you could have fooled me._

The door slides open. I expect there to be cheering, and there is. I expect there to be gawkers, and there are. I expect my family to be waiting, and there they stand. I smile brightly, stepping down out of the train carefully. The streets of District 2 are in good condition, but not nearly so good as the Capitol's. Walking in the high heel shoes I've been assigned is no small feat.

"Eewyn! Eewyn!"

Ylla doesn't even wait for me to finish smiling and waving to the cameras that have followed me here. She rockets out of the crowd, slamming into me and almost knocking me over. I laugh, once I'm sure I'm not actually going to fall or do something equally as embarrassing in front of the reporters.

How have I gone from worrying that I'll be brutally slaughtered any moment to worrying that the Capitol paparazzi will catch me tripping in the span of a week?

"Hi, Ylla!" I exclaim, wrapping her up in a hug. Now that she's given me a couple obligatory words, Ylla's mouth takes off.

"Eewyn, I couldn't _believe _you won! Well, I could, but I was still so happy! It was _awful _seeing you in there! When you were fighting that awful Wesley- oh! I could have _died_! I'm so sorry about your ally, Eewyn. That must have been hard for you, having to kill her," she finishes sadly. I almost smile at my friend's total lack of tact. She never has been good at avoiding sensitive subjects.

"It's alright, Ylla. It had to happen, and Evita would have done the same to me, sooner or later," I reply. Ylla frowns, apparently not convinced, but before she can respond I lace my arm through hers and walk to my parents. My mother smiles tightly while my father looks more uncomfortable than anything. He never has liked crowds.

"Eewyn," my mother says, giving me a kiss on the cheek with her thin lips. She runs a hand across my cheeks. Father gives me a one-armed hug. I bet the media will be thrown off by our apparently cool reception, but that is simply the way my family does things. Besides, they've known I was alive for quite some time now. They got to do their celebrating when Wesley Sawr was killed.

"Hi. It's good to be back home," I say, smiling warmly. My mother takes my other arm and leads me toward the Justice Building.

"We have a new house, Eewyn, but it's on the other side of the District. We'll need to buy a wagon, but we're being loaned one for the day."

I frown. As a family who lived and worked in the more wealthy part of the District, we had never owned a wagon. It was both unnecessary and impractical, since we would have needed a horse or donkey to pull it as well, and we didn't have the yard space to keep one. I was never too fond of the carts some of the poorer families used to get around. They were stinky and ragged. But I guess I'll be able to buy as nice a wagon as I want.

I make small talk as we walk to collect a cart. Has Mrs. Simmons had her baby yet? _Yes, she has. She named her Cordella_. Oh, how nice. _Yes, she's a lovely child_. It's mindless and neither of us really cares. Ylla doesn't know Mrs. Simmons, and is forced to keep quiet for once. Before long I begin bringing up our school acquaintances and she jumps back into our discussion. Unsurprisingly, they've all been rooting for me. Hary wasn't really as well known. Quieter. Since his death, though, the entire District has been on my side. I'd like to claim it's because they love me so dearly, but I know it has as much to do with the gifts that will rain down on them for the next year as it does with my sparkling personality.

As we walk, it doesn't take me long to realize people are staring at me. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I'm a celebrity now, and a freak show. Whichever someone sees me as, they're sure to look as I walk by.

Well. I guess I'll have to spend more money on those Capitol cosmetics, then, if everyone is going to be looking at me all the time.

It takes a long time for me to become uncomfortable, but it does happen. A wriggly feeling slides underneath my skin. My father notices my discomfort and frowns, "What is it, Eewyn?"

"Nothing. Just... it's a little strange to have everyone looking at me like this," I say in a low voice, trying to make sure no one outside of our small group notices. My father smiles a little.

"You'll get used to it, Eewyn. You're a strong girl."

And that is true. Whatever else you can say about me, I am strong.

* * *

I roll over onto my back. Ylla snores horribly. She has permission from her parents to stay the weekend. Apparently, my parents thought it might be good to have her here in case I didn't take coming home very well and needed a sense of normalcy. Well, there's nothing normal about how loudly my friend talks in her sleep.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I got to choose my room first, of course, and I took the biggest one. The bed is big enough not only for Ylla and myself, but probably my parents, too; if they felt the urge to join us. It's soft and warm. If Ylla wasn't so loud, I would have fallen asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. As it is, I wander over to the big balcony and push the door open. I close it behind me and stand by the railing. It's summer, but the chill in the air is still undeniable. I rub my bare arms but don't go back inside. Instead, I sweep my eyes over the horizon. I can't see much, but a few lights from town are still on, glittering in the distance like little gems.

Well. I'm certainly poetic tonight, aren't I?

I lean down against the railing, wincing as the cold metal stings my skin. I probably ought to go back inside, but I like the open air. Back in the house, under the nighttime's hush, I feel almost suffocated. I'm not quite used to this yet. It will take a while to really remember that it's safe to just go to sleep. Or not. I slept just fine in the Capitol; I don't see why it should be any different here.

Maybe it's because this is supposed to be home, but doesn't feel like it. This isn't the house I grew up in. It's a Capitol substitute and I know it. So, that must be it. This is my mind's last gasp at rebellion against my new masters. I shove it down. At this point, rebellion is pointless. The Games will always be a part of me. My choice now is to rule my memories or let them rule me.

"Eewyn?"

I start a little. I didn't think I'd woken Ylla up, but apparently I had. I turn to her, forcing a smile onto my face, "What is it?"

"Oh. Nothing, I guess. I was just wondering what you were doing out here," she says, wandering over to join me at the railing. "And aren't you cold?"

"Yes," I admit. My nightgown is thin and sleeveless, and I neglected to wear socks. In hindsight, it's a bad idea.

"Why are you out here, then?" she asks, frowning. Ylla's light red hair is indistinguishable from my blond or the trees in the distance as they're silvered by the moonlight. It's strangely comforting. It gives everything a sense of bland unity. Maybe that's what makes me bold, all of sudden. I feel like she's the same as I am, that she'll understand.

"I feel freer out here," I say. Ylla looks at me, her brow creased in confusion. She's no genius, certainly, but that's part of her charm. As it is, though, I can tell she's going to need some explaining.

"Free? But you're a victor. How much 'freer' can you get than wealthy and loved and out of the reaping for good?"

"Quite a bit," I say with a small smile. "The Capitol… _owns _me now. I'm going to belong to them forever."

"Oh," Ylla says softly. "Then… do you wish you'd died?"

"No. I'm too weak to want that," I admit with a sigh.

"But trust me. If you're reaped… if there's any way you could let yourself lose, do it. It's no worse than winning."

"Alright," she says softly.

"You know, I almost wish I had been a rebel," I say thoughtfully. "I wish I was more like them. I wish I was brave enough to do what I knew would make me the happiest. If I was… I don't know. Maybe I'd end it now."

Ylla's eyes widened, "Eewyn… you wouldn't!"

"No. No, but I almost wish I would. Let me tell you, Ylla. You don't miss freedom until you lose it."

Ylla nods quietly. She's clearly taken my words about freedom to heart, which is why I'm convinced it's my fault when she disappears a month later. It's the Capitol, reminding me that such fruits as freedom and openness with a friend are forbidden to me now. The message is clear. I am theirs, and that is all I will ever be. My parents don't understand why I cry for almost a week straight after her body is recovered, badly maimed. It was a wild animal, the official report claims. No one else knows that it's my fault.

Her funeral is relatively small. Even in District 2, you don't have a lot of time to stop working, even to honor a dead friend. Mr. and Mrs. Bindles are given leave from work, and no one else.

As her body - wrapped in a shroud because coffins aren't available in the Districts - is carried to the cemetery, I understand.

I, Eewyn Carre, have always lived on the edge of a choice. Be it the choice to betray my ally, the choice to be the Capitol's pawn, or the choice to tell my best friend dangerous secrets, I have always had a choice. Now, every choice is gone.

As they lower her in, they lower me in, too. Eewyn Carre is dead.

"_Until a person can say deeply and honestly, 'I am what I am today because of the choices I made yesterday,' that person cannot say, 'I choose otherwise.'" –Stephen R. Covey

* * *

_

Mica Larosa sat at her desk, fiddling with the papers that she needed to have signed and stamped by the end of the day. Head Gamemaker Debrown's murder weighed heavily on her. The rest of the Gamemakers, too, but especially her predecessor had met a rather harrowing end. It was a reminder to her that no matter how many District citizens regarded her as the personification of malevolent power, she was only too vulnerable to the president's rage.

"Ms. Larosa?"

Mica knocked over her cup of coffee in alarm. She was on edge. The reapings today, the Games within a week… really, anyone who knew Mica knew she was flighty and nervous. Not the most obvious choice to lead something like the Hunger Games or work in close quarters with President Hellwick, but she was generally accepted to be a creative genius. Besides, she was easy enough for her higher-up to control. She knew that was part of the reason they were fond of her, and she did nothing to change their image of her. What the government of Panem couldn't control it removed, because anything beyond their control was a threat.

"Y- yes?" she stuttered. Her assistant frowned at the coffee spreading across her desk, and Mica remembered to snatch up her documents just before they were soaked and stained. Good thing, too, because she had the feeling that stained paperwork would not have endeared her to her bosses.

"It's time for all Gamemakers to meet in the launch room. District One is halfway through with their reaping ceremony," he said.

"Thank you, Ares," she said. She hesitated, "Would you mind mopping up…"

"No," he sighed, used to his boss and the messes that seemed to follow her. She smiled awkwardly in thanks before hurrying down the hall. The launch room was a short walk, and she arrived before the escort had finished her speech.

It was a good choice to introduce the escorts, she decided. Before, the children had been mostly on their own. Now they'd have someone watching out for them, at least a little. Kindness to the doomed.

"-and may it be the very best Games _ever_!" trilled the escort, giggling uncontrollably.

She seemed happy, Mica noted as she settled into her leather chair, an Avox handing her some sort of sweet drink. Well, she envied her. While the escort dug around in the glass ball, Mica opened her sketchbook, ready to take notes. Notes that could take a child's life. And maybe hers, too.

"Amethyst Reinhart!"

It was Game time.

And there would be blood.

* * *

**A/N**- Well. There it is, guys. Starvation 2 is over. Of course, at the end of any six-month endeavor, there are always some people you need to thank. I have several.

First off, my reviewers. You guys are awesome. Wanna know how awesome? My goal for this story was to reach 100 reviews by the time the last chapter was published. As I write this, this story has _two hundred reviews. _Wow. Thanks so much!

There are a few reviewers who deserve special mention.

Double Feature, Chocolatiee, FoalyWinsForever, Scriptum Haedus, Hahukum Konn, The TrackerJacker, Liitle Schemer, melliemoo, Cassus Fett (sorry for killing off Wesley!), and Claratrix LeChatham: Thanks! Seeing your reviews not just once or twice but pretty much every or every other update was really rewarding! You people keep me going.

And an _extra _special mentions to Only Cady Maddox, for being willing to call me out on my plot holes and mistakes. You've not only been a great reader, you've helped me become a better writer.

To all the betas who helped me out. Especially LoveTheBoyWithTheBread, who helped me with the first half, and Laeve, who was willing to jump in and muddle through the second. Also to ForeverAdrian, who I could always turn count on to fill in (and beg for spoilers).

Starvation 3 is in progress. I've decided that delaying chapter release is a bad idea for procrastinators (me) so I will be publishing reapings as they're written. Also, The Starvation Sequence (which was the until-now unmentioned official name for this series of stories) has a TV Tropes page! If there are any tropers among my wonderful readers, I'd love for you to check it out.

And thanks, of course, to anyone who bothered reading this lengthy and un-proofread author's note.

See you in Starvation 3!

-P.W. Bing


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